Lost Souls
by ctrl-issue
Summary: Sometimes there are Lost Souls that wander this world, and no amount of science will ever be able to explain the how or the why. Project for NaNo 2008; CSI:NY, PotC, and Mermaid saga crossover. Slash FlackxSheldon & Sparrington. Violence and fun times.
1. Pound of Flesh and a Pint of Blood

_Title__: Lost Souls  
Chapter__: 1 – Pound of Flesh and a Pint of Blood  
Author__: ctrl_issue  
Fandom(s)__: CSI:NY/Mermaid Saga/PotC  
Rating__: T for Teen (for cursing, for violence, and for now)  
Pairings__: Flack/Sheldon, Sparrow/Norrington, Messer/"Montana"  
Disclaimer__: If you know it, I don't own it. And chances are, even if you DON'T know it, I don't own it.  
Summary__: Sometimes there are Lost Souls that wander this world, and no amount of science will ever be able to explain the how or the why.  
Author's Notes__: Done for NaNoWriMo 2008, so don't expect quality here folks. It's just that the premise of this amuses me. Greatly. Why, yes, I DO do it for the LULZ! (and I am totally including this header as part of my word count. Don't like? Tough.) I should also note that NONE of these are "my" fandoms. I've never written in any of them before. Hell, I've barely read anything for CSI:NY. As such, you should be prepared for some OOCness going on here.  
Word Count So Far__: 10.136_

**Lost Souls**

Night in the city was as normal as any self-respecting native could hope for. Tourists were congregating at the usual attractions, leaving the rest of the metropolis to do its casual, familiar business, as it preferred. Lights brightening the landscape so brightly that hardly any stars were visible. Cars moved down the streets, cabbies weaving and cutting through the traffic like otters through ocean currents: beautiful but vicious. People walked the sidewalks at various paces and in random packs, risking their lives every time they darted across the asphalt street. Even the weather seemed to speak of averages, as it was neither too hot nor too cold, with only moderate wind and humidity.

Within the city's illusion, though, there was random insanity occurring everywhere.

Down a darkened alley in down town financial district, a lithe figured dressed in all black ran as if her life depended on it. Dark eyes were dilated more from adrenaline than from the shadows, and her heartbeat pounded in her throat. To the casual observer, she appeared to be running away from someone. Or something.

But as she approached the back of one of the buildings along the alley block, she pulled out a white key card. Slamming against the closed door, one hand gripped the handle while the other used the keycard to open the door. Once inside, she resumed her breakneck speed, barreling down the hallway.

Inside the building, marble floors that were used to the fast clip of dress shoes were pelted by the rapid succession of soft-soled shoes. The air was crisp, oxidized and utterly controlled. Lights were intermitted, as there was supposedly no one within the structure. The halls were a maze of white walls and blue doors.

The illusion of normalcy was most potent when used to hide how chaotic the world really was.

She knew where she was going, though. She had the map of the place memorized. Every turn, every flight of stairs, every secret passage and code. She knew the how and the where.

And she believed in the why. She believed in the why of it with every heart-pounding breath she took, with every screaming muscle in her body.

They had taught her well. Molded her.

Sculpted her body and her mind and her spirit.

Unfortunately, they had neglected one important thing.

Time.

They hadn't given her enough time.

**0-0-0-0-0-0**

"And that's it?" Detective Donnie Flack looked down at the body with a frown. '_Who has marble on the sixteenth floor? Am I the only one that thinks it's a bit… pretentious?_'

"Yes, sir," the uniformed cop replied tiredly. "As soon as we found the body, we called it in, got the witness to a different room with a watch on him, and called for back-up. The witness is the secretary for one of the bigwigs here, and she's pretty shaken up about this. She's already made three pots of coffee for every one, and keeps cleaning the same dishes over and over."

"They weren't evidence, were they?" Flack asked, jerking his head up to look at the beat cop. He would hate to have the guy's badge for allowing someone to tamper with evidence, but he wasn't going to let the murderer of some kid get away.

"No, I believe they were her lunch dishes," the officer said with a shake of his head. "As soon as she got to the cafeteria, she began to fiddle with it, but apparently, she wasn't hungry. She just tossed her food in the garbage and started cleaning."

"Mmm," Flack nodded. "Right, sounds like a neat freak. I'll talk with her in a second. I want to be here for when the coroner and CSI get here. Let him know what you've told me and then we'll get down to some real business."

"Me and my partner will wait with her," the other cop said as he accepted the dismissal. He was young and expected to be run over by some of the detectives, but Flack had worked with him before. They had an understanding. Sort of.

Looking down the pristinely white hallway, towards the elevators, Flack was mildly surprised to see the doors open to reveal a new coroner and Dr. Sheldon Hawkes emerge together. One eyebrow quirked up at the site of Sheldon, specifically.

'_Looks like someone was on a date_,' Flack thought to himself with just a touch of self-admitted jealousy. As far as he was concerned, the knee-jerk reaction was normal for him. He did not dwell on the emotion, though. Instead, he pushed it to the side so that he could try to be as analytical as possible when giving the doctor a once over.

The smaller framed male wore a pair of dark dress slacks and a pale shirt that was partially opened to reveal some of his clavicle. '_I wonder what it would be like… Never mind, not going to go there. Not after the last time I did anything like that. And the only reason I did that then was because it was college and that's the time for experimenting and making stupid mistakes._' A dark blazer kept the ensemble looking mildly dress-attire, but then Flack was honest with himself in acknowledging that he had never seen Sheldon looking anything less than beautiful, even when he was dumpster diving.

"Hey Doc," Flack greeted as Sheldon approached. "What're you doing here? Weren't you off or something?"

"Or something," Sheldon grinned. "Mac called me on my cell, asking me to come in. Him and the rest of the team are being briefed on a big case back at the office."

"Oh?" Flack asked as he tilted his head, doing his best to not be obvious. '_He smells good, too. Wonder what kind of cologne that is._'

"Human trafficking."

"I see," Flack nodded absently. "So, what, you got the short stick?"

"What have we got?" Sheldon asked with a rueful grin. He placed his case on the ground well away from the body. He took out his gloves first, and as he put them on, he eyed the girl. She was dressed in all black, from her sneakers up to her black jeans and black hoodie. She wore a black knit cap. Some of her sable hair had escaped the confines of the cap, and were laying haphazardly about youthful face.

"One young Asian Jane Doe who looks to be all of fifteen. Caught dead after she broke into here, Black Pearl Enterprises. She has a skeleton keycard on her persons, and we're going to check and see who all has a copy of one of them. From what I understand, they hard to copy, so at least that's some good news." Flack said as he flipped through his notebook. With a jerk of his head, he indicated a weapon the young victim still held onto. "Another piece of news is that we found her holding onto an old sword, a Katana. I guess it's true what they say, you live by the sword, you die by the sword. And I may not be an expert on these things, but just lookin' at the thing, I bet this thing is the genuine article, and probably worth a fortune. Mac would know. He's used one of these before. She's got a death grip on it like you wouldn't believe, too."

"Probably just rigor. Seems to be a lot of blood, but I can't tell where it's coming from. There don't seem to be any visible holes in her clothes," Sheldon said as he began photographing the body. He took care to get a few good pictures of her hand clutching the sword. "With the blood loss and holding the sword, I'd say she was stabbed or in some kind of fight, but…"

"But?" Flack asked.

"But if loss of blood were the C.O.D., there would be a larger pool around her. We'll have to take her back to the lab to get a proper cause." Clicking off a few more dozen photographs, each from a different angle, the doctor was also obviously trying to see more of what might have caused the girl to expire. When he was done, he nodded over to the coroner who promptly set about finding the time of death. As the other medic did so, Sheldon started looking about the room for some of the more obvious clues. "Hmmm…"

"What?"

"If our victim was in a sword fight…" Sheldon asked, looking over at the taller male. "Where's all the blood spatter? Where are the bloody footprints?"

Flack frowned as he looked around the area again. "You thinking this isn't our primary scene?"

"Hey, guys?" The coroner called out, cutting into their conversation.

"Yeah?" Flack asked, turning to look at the kneeling figure.

"According to temperature and rigor, time of death was about 2 A.M."

"That's about four hours ago," Sheldon murmured to himself. He frowned as he turned to Flack. "What time did her keycard open the last door? Where was she trying to go?"

"I'm thinking the last door she opened, she didn't need a keycard for," Flack shook his head. "As for where she was going… only her maker would know."

**0-0-0-0-0-0**

Mac sat down with his notebook and a cup of coffee at one of the many tables set in the briefing room with the rest of his team. Lindsay, Danny, and Stella were gathered around him, set off to the side of the rest of the police officers. In front of them, three FBI agents were sorting papers, putting them into order. '_Looks like this is going to be a big event._'

"Hawkes?" Stella asked quietly.

"Should be at the crime scene by now," Mac acknowledged. He hated calling the doctor in when he had made such a rare request for time off, but there were no helping matters. '_The call of duty is one that no one with any character can refuse, and if that's one thing this team has in spades, its character._'

"What about the Shelley Richie case?"

"He's waiting for a few things to process, and he said that the results wouldn't be done until sometime tonight." Mac sighed. "As much as human trafficking is a higher priority, especially as it can sometimes fall under the jurisdiction of Homeland Security and threats to national safety, our case loads aren't going to up and disappear just because the feds showed up."

"Yo, Mac," Danny whispered somewhat playfully, leaning forward to look at him. "Isn't that the same FBI guy from the Box Car Murders?"

Mac looked over to the man in question. With his receding hairline and large nose, the man was definitely old enough.

"I thought that guy quit the FBI a few years ago," Lindsay whispered curiously.

"That's what I'm sayin'. What's he doing here?"

"Children," Stella warned with a quirk to her lips. "They're about to start story-time. If you're patient, I'm sure we'll find out."

"Yes, Mah," Danny snickered as he leaned back in his chair.

Oddly enough, the agents started the meeting by passing out the papers. As if on cue, the police officers began leafing through the material, which Mac had expected. That automatic reaction was the key reason most handouts weren't given until AFTER the pertinent information was said.

Mac set his papers in front of him and decided to watch the agents rather than the papers. '_They're nervous. Scared. Been a while since I've seen these guys so on edge. Must be something REALLY big. And important. I wonder who's watching over their shoulder on this case._' Mac shook his head at the thought and took a sip of his coffee.

"Okay, let's get started," the first agent and only female said. "I'm Agent Sarah Monroe, with me are Agents Cheyenne Arrowsmith, and Agent Brandon Charles…"

"Hey, Montana, you any relation to-"

"Danny!" Linsay hissed. "Shhh!"

Mac cracked open his notebook and began taking notes. The location of their initial raid was going to be a warehouse on the docks, which already had some of his team, Danny, groaning softly. The target was a group of illegal immigrants shipped over from Asia, specifically China. The teams were going to try and rescue as many people as they could, but the agents wanted to pay special attention to the young females. Especially the infants. From what their department had been able to discern, there was a very low profile ring that only wanted young girl children. Mac could only hazard a disgusted guess as to what they wanted to do with the infants, and none of them involved adoption.

"I hate to be the one to ask this," one of the police officers said as he raised his hand, interrupting the agents. "But how young are we talking about, and how low profile are they?"

"Young, as in only a few day old is to be preferred," Agent Charles replied, his voice rough with nerves. "And as for how low profile, to put it bluntly, we haven't even been able to figure out who their go between is, much less how many people are a part of it. There are just rumors, urban legends, myths. The mothers say that someone comes to them in the middle of the night, offers them food and in exchange takes their children. And no matter how hungry they are, they give the children away, but they never eat the food."

"Why not?"

"It's poison."

"So… I get that they're not supposed to be here to begin with, but why don't they just all rise up and fight them off?"

"Because these people are utterly terrified," Agent Arrowsmith answered. "I've seen the end result of their resistance, and from what we can tell… no one survives. No one."

**0-0-0-0-0-0**

"Now, Mrs. Hall, what can you tell me about-."

"I swear I'm going to find a new job after this."

"Excuse me?" Flack asked as he looked the young woman over. With her heels on, she stood up to his chin, with bleach-blond hair pulled back into a curly ponytail. She appeared to be in her early thirties if she was a day, but he knew that appearances could be incredibly deceiving, especially when it came to women.

"I said, I swear I'm going to find a new job after this." She reiterated as she fidgeted with her hands. "My mother told me this place held too many ghosts."

"Ghosts?"

"She warned me, she did, but this was such a good job… full benefits, all kinds of holidays off, great pay. But, I guess its true what they say. If its too good to be true…" She continued to ramble.

"Uhm, ma'am," the detective cleared his throat.

"She told me that I had to be careful, especially if He showed up."

"He…?"

"He's the devil. Or a demon. Or that he had made a deal with the devil or something." She shook her head. "I didn't believe her, but… ever since He showed up, things have gotten really weird around her."

"Weird?" Flack said, unable to come up with more than one word questions as she broke down in front of him. He had learned a long time ago that if someone wanted to talk, it was best to let them. It would take some time, and a helluva lot of patience to get her talking in the direction he wanted her to go, but he was a trained professional.

"What do you know about the history of Black Pearl Enterprises, sir?" She asked.

"It's a multi-million dollar business that deals primarily with research and development of medicines from plants, animals, and whatnot. It also has a history of dealing with antiquities," Flack said matter-of-factly. 'Thank God Doc knew some of what this place deals with, and was willing to share that before he started going over the room.'

"Okay… so, weirdness, right? You want to know about the weirdness." She sighed as she looked around some more. "Well, the story goes… this company started out as a pirate ship, way, way back in the 1700's or something. I can't remember the specifics right now, my mind is so.. yeah, but anyway, the Black Pearl was a pirate ship and the captain, Captain Jack Sparrow, got cursed. There are lots of legends about how it went down, but that doesn't matter. What matters is… he got cursed and started haunting his ship. Which, back in the day, being cursed and on a ship at sea, that was not the place to be. So, Captain Sparrow found other captains for his ship, but they were just figure heads. He was still there, deciding where to go and what to do and whatever."

"And how does this dead Captain pertain to-"

She shook her head and waved her hands in front of her to quiet him. Leaning forward, she whispered fiercely, "He's still here, captaining his ship."

'_Okay, she's either gone over the deep end_,' Flack thought to himself. '_Or she really believes that there's some kind of ghost captain walking around. Shit. I hate ghosts. They give me the creeps._' "Uhm, ma'am, how do you know?"

"I've seen him." She said as she nodded firmly, her big brown eyes locked firmly on him.

"Oh?" Flack asked. "What does this ghost look like?"

"He's short, well, I'd say about 5'6"-ish. He has big brown eyes, and dark tan skin, like he's not quite white but not any discernable other race, you know. And he's got long black hair that he keeps tied back. I've seen him have it in a loose ponytail and I've seen him wear it done up with the chopsticks to keep the bun in place."

"You've seen him multiple times? And he looks different each time?"

"His clothes and hairstyle change, but He never changes. Never ages. Never see a blemish on him."

"… I see." Flack murmured as he watched her beginning to wring her hands again.

She blinked a few times before the corner of her mouth twisted up in an un-amused smiled. "You think I'm crazy, don't you."

"I didn't say that."

"It's okay," she said as she laughed softly, though there was no humor to her voice. "If I were you, I'd think I was crazy, too. And between the two of us, I DO think I'm crazy. Which is why I need to get a new job. This isn't worth it."

"How long have you been working here?" Flack asked instead of commenting, though he knew the answer. He'd already gotten her record pulled.

"I've been here since I turned 18. My mother got me the job, since she used to work in the research and development department, acquisitions."

"So you know a lot of the people in this company, yes?"

"I know just about everyone. I might not know their name, but I know their faces and what department they're with."

"Have you ever seen the victim here before, either as someone's daughter or…"

"No. Never seen her before," she said, her lower lip quivering as her anxiety got the better of her once again. "But from what I understand, it isn't the first time something like this has happened."

"Oh? What happened then?" Flack asked as he continued to scribble his notes.

"Someone broke in to one of our office and died on our CEO's floor."

"When did this happen?"

"The last time He was here." She whispered, tears beginning to fall down her face.

**0-0-0-0-0-0**

Sheldon eyed the cop behind him, mindful that as a CSI he had to have back up of some sort when interviewing potential suspects. Even if that backup tended to be another CSI as often as not.

He knew the cop, as they had worked on several cases, and new the man to be the embodiment of procedures when on the clock. Off the clock? Sheldon had no idea. '_Could be he's exactly the same, which means he's probably either a career cop, or from a long line of cops, much like Donnie. But then, Donnie isn't your typical detective. Believes in ghosts for one thing, and is ruled more by his passions than his common sense._' He had nothing but respect for Flack, even if their personalities did clash sometimes.

Still in the clothes he had been wearing to his breakfast date, Sheldon took a deep sigh and felt no regrets that the date had ended earlier than anticipated. '_Talk about saved by the bell. I have never been happier to be pulled to a murder scene than I was this morning. If that date had gone any worse, I would have been the one committing seppuku._'

Sheldon turned to the security guard who was in the process of sending out a massive text alert to the employees, warning them that the office was now a crime scene and that it would take a few hours before they would be allowed in the building.

"Excuse me, Mr. Ian Woon?"

"Yes?"

"I'm Doctor Sheldon Hawkes. I'd like to talk to you about the keycard."

"Okay," the aged man said. He was an older Asian man with a scar down one side of his face, as if he had gotten into a nasty bar fight that involved a broken bottle and hot tempers when he was much, much younger. "Now, you know I did not make the keycards."

"We know," Sheldon nodded. "But you would know who has access to the few skeleton keycards, right?"

"Oh, sure. I know everyone who has worked here for the past fourty-seven years."

"That's a mighty long time to be working."

"Maybe, but I like working." Mr. Woon said with a shrug. "Especially here."

"Really?"

"It is really hard to get in here, Doctor. Most of the kids that come through here… they are really bright. And everyone here is good people. Do you know how rare that is? To find a place where there are only good people?" Mr. Woon said with a slight laugh. "They are very respectful for your services, and always make sure that your requests are taken seriously. I come here to get away from the rest of the world, which is not near as respectful or considerate."

"I see," Sheldon murmured. "Can you tell me a bit about Mrs. Hall?"

"Nice girl, very high strung," the old security guard smirked. "She is a nice girl, though. She has got a memory like you would not believe. Remembers a face that she has seen only once before for YEARS. Me? It takes me a while to learn faces. Names take me even longer. But most of the people who come through here usually stay for a while, if not forever, so that helps. She even remembers dates and anniversaries. I tell you, I wish I had that talent. It would have saved me so much grief when my wife was around."

"Never could remember your anniversary?" Sheldon asked with a grin, wanting the old man to talk some more.

"Pshh." Mr. Woon said with a wave of his hand. "I ALWAYS remembered the day we got married, I had worked so hard for it. My Bettie, she always say, 'No.'. Until one day… But, her birthday on the other hand…"

"When did she pass?"

"About twenty years ago," He said sadly. "I tell you what, this company… best company there ever was. They gave me a month off, paid, as well as arranging food to be delivered to my house every week for that month. The lady in charge of human resources at the time… she and I had not been the best of friends, but somehow she knew what kind of food I liked and arranged for that to be delivered. At the time, that was unheard of, but… from what I have learned of this company, it is pretty standard. Like I said, these are good people here."

"Sounds like a real dream job."

"It is. It very much is, which is why, when you get hired here… you tend to stay." Mr. Woon sighed as he shook his head. "As for the keycards, there are five of them. The security desk has one, which is right here. The janitorial service has one; because they clean floor by floor and have go move in one big group. The head HR person has one, which Miss Vivian carries with her at all times. And the CEO has two."

"The CEO has two of them?"

"Yes, sir. Two."

"Why does he need two when everyone else has to share one?"

"That's just the way it's always been," Mr. Woon said with a shrug. "And I am of the school that if it is not broken, do not fix it."

"It's a very common school," Sheldon remarked.

"That it is."

"Do you know what door she was trying to open?"

"Not a clue, but I can get the guys in charge of our alarm package to send you the records for her card. Even if it was a skeleton key, there should be a specific code to it that would differentiate it between the others."

"That would be VERY helpful," Sheldon nodded. Tilting his head to the side, he asked, "Can you tell me… what do you think our victim might have been after?"

"Eh, probably our resident ghost."

"Excuse me?"

"Our ghost." Mr. Woon reiterated with a mischievous grin. "Do not you know? The Black Pearl is haunted by our very own ghost."

"No, I didn't know that, but… you say that with a bit of glee."

"He is a good ghost," Mr. Woon answered with a nod. "Captain Jack takes care of his people. A lesson he has learned over time."

"Captain Jack?"

"Captain Jack Sparrow, the original captain of the old pirate ship The Black Pearl. Just as he haunted the old ship, he is said to haunt the business today."

"Have you ever seen this ghost?"

"I have seen someone who looks remarkably like what Captain Jack is supposed to look like roaming the halls. But every time I get close to him, he is gone. Disappeared. And he seems to know all the blind spots for the cameras, too."

"So… do you think that this ghost is a real ghost… or something else?"

"I do not care if he was a pirate. I think that this ghost is a benefactor, a wise ancestor to this company, and as long as he's around, this will be a good company filled with good people."

**0-0-0-0-0-0**

Mac checked his walkie-talkie, listening, as the raiding party got ready to go in. He and the rest of his team, including some of the lower ranking CSI members were gathered n the farthest of the trucks with all of their gear. Half of them would go in as soon as the scene was secure; the other half would be setting up a processing station so that they could check over each of the illegals as they were brought out.

Fingerprints would be taken, as well as vitals and other information. Even DNA would be taken, and added to several databases, including Interpol's for the Missing and Exploited.

With the back door to their vehicle open, the scent of the docks came through the cab as strong as ever. Sea air mixed with decaying wood, fish, oil, and a few other familiar scents were all inhaled deeply. Mac frowned at the smell, overpowered as it was by the sea. "Do you smell that?"

"Smells like the docks to me," Danny quipped.

"I just smell old, dead fish," Lindsay said with a crinkled nose.

"Fishing boats aren't too far from here," Danny commented as he burrowed deeper into her jacket. "Best place to get fresh fish, too."

"Oh yeah? Spoken from experience?"

"A little," he grinned. "But what do you smell, Mac?"

"I'm not sure. But it seems familiar."

Stella shushed them all as she leaned out the door to peer around. Frowning, she looked over at the radio. While there was some chatter, there didn't seem to be much of it. "It's a little quiet."

Mac's frown deepened as he got out of the car. The SWAT and other raiding teams had already entered the building and should have been loud calls to move in different direction. The hairs on the back of his neck began to prickle with anxiety. As the others began to pile out of the car behind him, he turned to them, and started "This…"

"We found something!" came the excited call on the radio.

All eyes turned to the radio, waiting expectantly.

"What is that?" another voice asked.

"Bravo team, wait for back-up before going forward."

"I think it's a girl."

"Miss? Miss?"

"Oh my god… OH MY GOD!"

"What happened to her face?"

"Fuck that, what the hell is happening to her arms?"

"Shit!"

There came a low roar from somewhere in the distance, and even over the muffled sound of the radio, Mac and his team were left cringing from the sound.

"FUCK! What the hell? Fire! FIRE! FIRE! FIRE!"

Mac turned to look at the warehouse where they had seen the teams go in as the sounds of rapid gunshots were heard, carried to him by the sea are. There was another loud scream from whatever it was they found, which seemed somehow amplified this time.

"Fucking hell! There are more of them!"

Chaos reigned over the transponder as sounds of gunfire and pain echoed across the airwaves. Mac found himself holding his breath

"AAAAHHHHH! MAN DOWN! MAN DOWN! ONE OF THEM GOT CHARLIE!"

"What are these things?!"

"PULL BACK, PULL BACK, PULL BACK!"

"Can't, sir! They're blocking the escape!"

"This is Alpha Team, Bravo team, what is your position?"

"C'mon, guys," Mac called out, pulling his own gun. He grabbed one of the spare walkie-talkies and turned it to the proper channel. He clipped it onto his bulletproof vest and noticed that the others were all following in his footsteps. All the years he had served in the services came rushing back to him, and he found himself running towards the warehouse doors. "Sounds like they need our help with extraction."

"Bravo team!"

"HELP Ugh-!"

"BRAVO TEAM, RESPOND. THIS IS ALPHA TEAM! DO YOU COPY?"

Mac reached the outside wall of the building, the rest of his team behind him. Most of their back-up were still waiting behind for them, mindful of procedure and their original orders. Mac was fine with that, too. 'Fewer people involved, means the fewer reports to fill out. Besides, if this all goes south, then someone is going to need to be around to say what happened.' He waited to hear more from the radio, praying that he and his people wouldn't have to go in.

"Can I ask what all four of us hope to accomplish when an entire SWAT team got wiped out?" Lindsay asked breathlessly.

"We're here to prevent that from happening again," Mac said sternly.

"Alpha Leader?"

"Yes?"

"We have company…"

And then to all of their horror, the familiar sound of whatever's cry was heard followed quickly by screams of terror and pain, and then gunshots. Only this time the sound was so much closer. So much more real.

"Let's move people!" Mac called out as he entered the building. As soon as he was through the doorway, that hauntingly familiar scent assaulted his nose. Only this time, instead of being overpowered by the salty sea air, it was overridden by the smell of blood, gun smoke, and death.

"Dear God, what is going on in here?" Stella whispered as she followed right behind him.

"Something tells me God has nothing to do with this," Danny said somberly in response.

Last to enter was Lindsay, whispering a prayer. "Though I walk through the shadow of the valley of death…"

**0-0-0-0-0-0**

Flack waited in the main lobby for the CEO to arrive. As he called back to the precinct for someone to pull the records for the last body found on the premises, he noticed Sheldon coming towards him. Ending the call, he nodded to the smaller male, "What's up, doc?"

"If you knew the number of times I'd heard that line…." Sheldon said with a shake of his head.

"And yet, it never stops being funny." Flack grinned.

The older male snorted. "So, I just finished talking with the security guard. Seems the CEO has two skeleton keycards, and there are only three others."

"Yeah, and from what I understand, this isn't the first body to be found on-site. The last time something like this happened, the body was found in the CEO's office."

"So I take it we're waiting for him to show up?"

"Yep," Flack nodded. He leaned back against the wall and made sure to give the good doctor a once over. "So, in the mean time, wanna tell me about the date that you were on?"

Sheldon rolled his eyes. "I've been on better."

"What'sa matter?" Flack pushed. He didn't question why he was being so openly curious, just attributed it to his own natural need to know things. It was one of the quirks of his personality that made him such a good detective. "She didn't know the difference between DNA and RNA?"

"I could live with that," Sheldon chuckled. "No, my date, for lack of a better description, was a complete and utter chore to get through."

"Wow," Flack grinned. "Not in your league or what?"

"I'd rather watch paint dry than go through that again."

"Ouch," the blue-eyed detective laughed. "I don't think I've ever heard you say something like that."

"Yeah, well, I've found that there's an art to dating. Part of it is listening, and the other part is having something to say that is worth listening to. I'm good at the listening. But my date?" Sheldon shook his head.

Flack tilted his head to the side as he looked at the smaller male. "So what was she like? Description wise, so I know to stay clear of her."

"Trust me, you won't have to worry about that," Sheldon said as he looked away.

"Why not?" Flack asked. _'I wonder what type of girl our good doctor thinks I date. I mean, I know some of the ones he's given his card to, and some of the ones he's mentioned, and all of them seem to be either knock-outs or really classy. Those are typically the ones I go for, too, so… why doesn't he want to pass along a referral. Or at least a warning?_'

"Because you only date classy ladies, and my date? Wasn't a lady." Sheldon narrowed his eyes as he jerked his head towards the door. "That the CEO?"

Flack looked towards the glass doors at the entrance to the lobby. The man in question was an older white man with a head full of silver white hair. The suit he wore was obviously tailored for his athletic frame. '_He's gotta be pushing seventy, and yet, he's as fit as any thirty something I've ever seen._' The man's blue eyes were almost the same shade of bright blue as Flack's, but even from across the room Flack could tell there was something in them that seemed to be… well, haunted. "I think so. One way to make sure, though."

Sheldon nodded before the two of them went to intercept the aged gentleman.

"Mr. Woon, you sent out a distress call?" The man said. His voice was cultured and articulate, though there was a slight southern accent to it.

"Yes, sir." Mr. Woon said as he nodded. "And I hope you do not mind, but I called the rest of the office to tell them not to come in today."

"Not at all, you did the right thing," the man said. "Not much work is going to get done with yellow tape around the place. Learned that the last time."

"Excuse me, sir. Are you Mr. Roman Thompson, the CEO of this place?" Flack asked as he flashed his badge.

"I am indeed."

"I'm Detective Flack, and this is CSI Dr. Sheldon Hawkes. We're here about the body."

"Of course," Mr. Thompson intoned. He looked over his shoulder at Mr. Woon and nodded his head. "I'll see you later, Mr. Woon."

"Not a problem sir. Sorry to have to call you in on your off day."

"It's alright." Mr. Thompson smiled.

He then led the two investigators away from the lobby and into one of the downstairs conference rooms.

He sat down with the window to his back, allowing Flack and Sheldon to sit closest to the door. "So, tell me gentlemen, how can I be of assistance?"

"First off, can we see your keycards?" Flack asked.

"I have one with me," Mr. Thompson nodded as he removed it from his inner pocket. "The other is up in my office, in my desk."

"If you don't mind, we would like to see it before we leave," Sheldon said cordially.

"Of course."

"We'd also like to know the your whereabouts for last night and this morning," Flack said, beginning the interrogation in earnest.

"I was at home, entertaining."

"Entertaining who?"

"My daughter, her fiancé, my grandchildren, and his father. We were up last night playing monopoly until about one in the morning."

"Monopoly? People still play that?"

"I'm teaching my grandchildren valuable skills." Mr. Thompson said with a wry grin.

"I see," Flack said as he scribbled some notes.

"Can you tell me… who was responsible for the last dead body in your building?" Sheldon asked, his voice soft and soothing.

"As far as I'm aware, that case was never solved." Mr. Thompson said.

Flack paid watched as the old man began to fidget with his wedding ring, twisting it about his finger. '_A tell-tale sign if there ever was one. Wonder what he's hiding._' "Do you know of anyone interested in hurting you, Mr. Thompson?"

"Hurting me?" the old man chuckled and shook his head. He splayed his hands out wide, as if indicating the office. "I run a clean ship here, detective. One of the best in the business, too. As far as I'm aware, my employees are happy, and the closest I've ever come to making a true enemy was when I was back in school. No one likes anyone who throws off the grading curve."

"I bet," Flack smirked with good humor.

"Mr. Thompson, could you tell me… what do you know about the rumors that this place is haunted?"

"Haunted?" The old man laughed nervously. Flack watched as Mr. Thompson once again began to fidget with his wedding ring.

"We have people who say they've seen a ghost of one Captain Jack?"

"Old wives tale," Mr. Thompson said with a shake of his head. But he didn't once let go of his wedding ring. "This company was based on a pirate ship, I will give you that much, but there's no such things as ghosts."

"There have been sightings."

"Sightings of a man who supposedly looks like Captain Sparrow was supposed to look like," Mr. Thompson clarified. "But I stand firm in my belief that there are no such things as ghosts."

After a few more questions, the two investigators asked to be shown the second keycard. Mr. Thompson led them both up to his office, and paused for only a moment as he opened his door.

"Is there a problem, Mr. Thompson?"

"Oh, no problem. I'm just wondering if I let my daughter know where I was going to be this morning," he said with a blush. "I told her that I would take the week off while her and the grandkids were here, but…"

With that, he opened the door and showed them in.

While the old man was getting the key, Flack took a look around. Behind the old wooden desk made to look like a captain's desk, there was an oil painting of an ageless man with dark brown eyes and black hair. Set into the frame, in big letters, read 'Captain Jack Sparrow'. "Is that the original Captain Jack?"

"What?" Mr. Thompson asked, his voice a little higher pitched than what it had been. Turning in the direction Flack indicated, the man visibly relaxed. With a slight chuckle, he nodded. "Yes. Yes, that's Captain Sparrow. An oddity of a man if there ever was one, and Fortune's own favorite fool."

With a shake of his head, Mr. Thompson went back to his desk. The keycard was in the first drawer he opened. "Here we are! Just as I said it would be."

"Do you mind if we take this?" Sheldon asked, reaching for the small bit of plastic. "Just to run some tests on it?"

Mr. Thompson hesitated. "I'm… not sure that would be a good idea."

"Why not? You give it to your mistress?"

"Hardly, detective," the older man replied drolly. "I'll tell you what. You can have it for the rest of the week. But I want it back come Monday."

Flack and Sheldon shared a look between them, before the doctor shrugged. "I'll deliver it to the front desk on Monday morning myself, how's that?"

"Your word?"

"I give you my word," Sheldon agreed with a slight frown, as if insulted by the man's doubt.

Mr. Thompson handed over the keycard with a nod.

After that, the two investigators left the office.

"I'm going to go back to the crime scene, give it one more go over. The body has already been taken to the morgue, and Sid should be starting the autopsy soon," Sheldon said. "The place was too clean, and I need to know that I didn't miss anything. Otherwise, it's going to bother me."

"Alright," Flack agreed, though there was a tight ball of nervousness leaving Sheldon to go over the scene alone. It wasn't the first time that the doctor had been in charge of his very own crime scene, and Flack had to console himself with that knowledge. '_I just don't like this place. It gives me the creeps._' "I'll go back to the station, see what I can find out about the last time something like this happened. I'll also start a background check on everyone here, including our resident ghost. You going to be okay here by yourself?"

"Yeah, this place is secure."

"Okay, meet you back at the station."

"I'll swing by Sid's before then, so that we can compare notes."

**0-0-0-0-0-0**

"Where is everybody?" Danny asked, his voice shaky with concern and fear. "Lots of blood… but no bodies."

"Watch your step, everyone." The floors were littered with newspapers and shell casings. Wood boxes were shattered and smashed, leaving broken debris everywhere as well. But everything, all the litter, the walls, even the floor, dripped with freshly splattered blood. '_Lots of blood… That is an understatement._' Mac thought to himself as he looked around.

And yet… there wasn't a body to be found.

"They weren't that deep into this hole when the shots rang out," Danny continued to mutter. "We shoulda seen… somethin' by now."

"Keep your cool, Danny," Mac said quietly.

"Look at the floor…" Lindsay said quietly as she knelt down.

Mac immediately went to guard her back, "What do you see?"

"Look, Mac," she said, her flashlight centered on a single footprint. Glancing down at the circle of light, he had to do a double take. As if mirroring his own thoughts, the younger female sad, "I've seen a lot of footprints in my time, but I've never seen any kind of creature that could leave a track like this before."

"If we had the time, I'd say to take some pictures for evidence, but saving the others is our main priority."

"Hey, guys, over here!" Danny called out from further down the hallway. The other three made their way as cautiously fast as they could, mindful that the shadows held something that couldn't be quite human. Danny had his flashlight pointed down at the ground, "Seems something nasty happened here."

"Is that…" Stella began, her voice quiet with dread. "Agent Arrowsmith's ID?"

"And I'd lay fifty to one odds, that that is Agent Arrowsmith's blood covering it." Danny nodded.

"But where is Agent Arrowsmith?" Lindsay asked. Suddenly, she flashed her light down the hallway, her gun pointed with its beam. "Did you hear that?"

The four of them looked up, and two more lights joined hers scanning the darkness in front of them. Stella, Mac noted, pointed hers behind to cover them.

"What did you hear?" Mac asked.

"Sounded like… a splash."

"We're on the docks. Water should be right under us."

"No, I mean, like, a splash that was real close."

"Come on, let's go forward," Mac said, inching along the walls after making sure that nothing was hidden against or behind them. "Let's see if Lindsay is right."

The four of them continued to move down the darkened hallway until a strong breeze blew towards them. His flashlight's beam swept the area in front of him, while Danny kept his on the ground. Lindsay was mindful to catalog their surroundings.

"That's a mighty strong draft for a closed in area like this," Stella commented, her back to them as she continued to watch their six.

"Drag marks on the ground, smearing the blood and footprints," Lindsay noted.

"That explains the lack of bodies," Danny muttered. "They've been moved."

"Possibly dumped," Mac agreed. He jerked his head towards the direction of the draft. "If that is what I think it is, we're going to have to call the divers in."

The four continued their slow progress, but with each step, Mac felt his body growing tighter and tighter with nerves and fear. '_I haven't felt like this since I was in a combat situation. Funny how you never forget how much you hate being a target._' He could feel eyes upon him and his people, but he wasn't sure where they were coming from.

"There!" Danny called out, his flashlight focusing on a dark circle in the flooring.

Moving as a group, the four of them made their way to the opening.

"Call it in, Danny," Mac sighed. He kept his gun out as he scanned the surrounding area, mindful that they were still being watched.

"More drag marks from the other side," Lindsay said as she knelt down again to examine the opening.

"I doubt this is the only drop site," Stella said quietly, her light and her gun still focused on the way they had come.

"It can't be, not to get rid of all of them in the time it took us to get in here and find this one hole," Mac agreed. "Three federal agents, twenty-four SWAT team members, and a bunch of armored cops. This should have gone down a lot smoother than this did."

"Brass is not going to like this," Stella commented.

"I don't like this," Mac replied shortly. "This doesn't make any sense."

"What are you thinking, Mac?"

"I'm thinking that if this wasn't big before, it is now."

"I'd say that it's a bit more than big," Lindsay said as she stood back up. "Whoever was pulling the FBI's strings before is going to be even more adamant now."

"You caught on to that, too, huh?" Mac grinned.

"Oh, that the agents were nervous, like this was either their first assignment or something heavy was on them from way on high?" Stella chuckled without humor. "I think we all got that impression."

"Okay, the others are on their way, including a lot more heavily armed officers," Danny said as he clipped his walkie-talkie back onto his vest. "They're also going to bring in some dogs, Mac."

"Good luck finding anything in this carnage," Mac said with a shake of his head. "Okay, people let's move out. There doesn't seem to be anyone left here to help, and I'd prefer we all get out of this alive."

"I second that motion," Danny agreed.

For Mac, the way out seemed even more frightening for them, even though they still had no idea what they were dealing with. However, once they were out into the open sunlight, he found that he could breathe easier.

As could his team.

Blinking against the harshness of the morning sun, Mac wiped the sweat from his forehead. Looking over at the rest of his team, he could see similar reactions in them. Adrenaline had their eyes dilated, which helped when they were in the darkness of the warehouse. They were all covered in sweat, and their boots had thick lining of blood on their soles.

"This scene is going to take forever to process," Stella said as she looked back towards the entryway.

"I'm not so sure we're going to be allowed in on that, either," Danny said as he nodded towards the caravan of dark vehicles headed their way.

"Federal case like this, I was surprised we were invited to their party in the first place," Mac said humorlessly.

"So, what do we do now?" Lindsay asked, her voice sounding younger than normal.

"The same thing we always do," Mac said. "Our jobs."

**0-0-0-0-0-0**

"What have you got for me, Sid?" Sheldon asked as he approached the older male. Even though it was now late in the afternoon, he was still in the same clothes that he had worn to the crime scene, not having had time to go home and change.

The Morgue was surprisingly empty, though the other coroners were keeping busy. Whenever they had the time, they spent it doing a deeper than usual cleaning of the place. After every autopsy, all the tools had to be sterilized to prevent cross contamination. The floors, lights, and other areas needed to be cleaned. Every nook had to be gone over with bleach-water and solution. '_They must love it right now. Slow days mean people are living, and life is good. Relatively speaking._'

Sheldon easily remembered when the morgue was located in a different part of the building, one with a lot more bricks and less tech. Truth to tell, he preferred the technology, as it made things easier on all of them.

"Your Jane Doe is a bit of a mystery," Sid said, by way of greeting.

"Oh?" the doctor asked, his interest already piqued.

"Where would you like to start? The mystery or the cause of death?"

"Let's start with the mystery," Sheldon replied, his head tilting to the side.

"Okay. The wounds, those sword slices and cuts? Those were old wounds that reopened," Sid said as he indicated one of the deeper cuts along the girl's arm. "And by old, I mean more than a year old."

"What? The scar tissue should have-"

"Should have, but didn't," Sid said shaking his head. He pulled out a sheet of notes and handed them to the other medic. "If she had gotten here any later than she had, I wouldn't have had ANY idea what was going on, but as it stands… it seems that every scar this girl had ever gotten just up and decided to dissolve with no warning."

"How is that possible?" Sheldon asked as he read over the notes.

"I sent a sample of her blood up to tox, as well as what little was in her stomach. So far, they've only given me a little light on the subject."

"And that is?"

"Cause of death," Sid answered with a flourish. "Your Jane Doe is approximately sixteen years old, Asian descent. She has perfect teeth, not even a cavity. This girl was in top condition. Judging by the size of her heart and her overall muscle condition, she was an athlete. I can't tell you what sport, but whatever it was tended to be based more on endurance than over all strength. Overall, she was perfect. However, somewhere along the way… she got into some strange kind poison."

"Poison?"

"And the mystery deepens. I've never seen the like before. It has some components that aren't even registered as elements on the periodic table," Sid said with another shake of his head. "We put it through the system, and while it didn't give any concrete side effects, it did give a slight history of the substance. It seems to come from a rare fish caught off the coast of Japan. Due to the rarity of finding the fish, you can imagine how rare the poisoning is. However, there was a note saying that it was a preferred method of death among a group of people listed as the Mermaids."

"Mermaids?" Sheldon asked, surprised. "Odd name for a group of killers."

"Well, with every country having its own legends and myths, maybe their mermaids are a bit more frightening and kept to the original legends."

"Original legends?" Sheldon tilted his head to the other side as he waited for Sid to explain.

"Way, way back in the day, mermaids were beautiful creatures that were half human and half fish. But for all their beauty, they were deadly killers, dragging young seamen to watery graves," Sid said with an almost helpless shrug. "I don't know how beautiful any of them could be since from what I've heard many people thought manatees were mermaids. By the same token, I know that in Irish tradition, mermen are supposedly very ugly land-bound creatures. Serving on a boat with a bunch of men for months on end… I bet that really did get a lot of young men to be more open to other kinds of sexual partners. Or delusional. Then again, think of the differences between eastern and western dragons. One was considered the gateway to hell, the other was considered a representation of their King and a living god."

"Maybe they are called Mermaids because they are, or at least were, like a female Yakuza?"

"Judging by the way this young girl was dressed, and the weapon of choice for her, I'd say more like a group of female ninja." Sid said as he looked down at the girl again. "Ninja being a master-less assassin."

"You think she was a Mermaid? I mean, she died from their poison. Would they kill one of their own?"

"It's possible that she was one of them, and she died on a mission. Maybe she failed and didn't want the dishonor. It's been known to happen. If she wasn't one of them, then the Mermaids had it in for her."

Sheldon looked between the coroner and the body of the young dead girl. "With no hits for her prints, and no matches for missing persons… our Jane Doe seems to be full of mysteries."

"From what I've heard, it's a day full of them," Sid remarked as he turned off the light over her.

"What's up?"

"You'll be hearing about this soon enough, but it seems that the raid that was supposed to occur earlier today?" Sid shook his head.

"What happened?" Sheldon asked, naked concern in his voice.

"Seems whoever was in charge of the trafficking got the drop on our people."

"Was anyone hurt?"

"There are three FBI agents missing, as well as two teams of SWAT and just as many police officers."

"How did that happen?"

"No one knows," Sid shrugged. "But they're combing the water area under the warehouse where the raid was supposed to take place, trying to find the bodies."

"That why you guys are cleaning up in here?"

"There's going to be an over-abundance of work here shortly, so I want this place to be prepared," the coroner nodded.

**0-0-0-0-0-0**

"I tell ya, Mac, something really creepy is going on at that place," Flack said. He was sitting in one of the chairs across from Mac's desk, leaning back. He had a worried look in his eyes and hs fingers were playing with one of the pens from Mac's desk.

"Creepy, huh?"

"Yeah, creepy." Flack nodded. "Talk of ghosts all ways gives me the creeps, ya know, but this…"

"You are suppositious by nature, Flack," Mac commented.

"Yeah, well, they all believe it, even when they say they don't. And that CEO guy? He definitely knows more than he's talking about. Especially about the ghost. He gets all weirded out whenever we talked about it."

Mac looked over to Sheldon who nodded his head. "I'll agree that Mr. Thompson does know more than he's letting on, but I'm not so sure he's clued in to our victim."

"Oh?"

"Nothing in his history indicates that he has had any problems with anyone. He's the embodiment of a good Samaritan and the perfect boss. I've pulled the human resource reviews for the company… Mac, if I didn't love what I do now? I would apply there. It really is a dream job, and the security guard wasn't kidding when he said that most people stayed for life. They really do. And they as a company even go so far as to help the widows within and around their company."

"Sounds too good to be true."

"That's what I thought, so I've pulled their financial records."

"Didn't you need a court order for that?"

"They gave it to me freely," Sheldon said with a shake of his head. "Like I said, a bit too good to be true. Their money is handled by independent agents, and they never invest in anything but gold."

"Pirate tradition."

"Apparently."

"What about the victim?"

"Here's the tox report," Sheldon said handing over the file.

Mac flipped it open to go over the findings. "Now, this is odd."

"While Black Pearl Enterprises deals a lot with all natural agents, they don't have listed any of this particular fish's meat, venom, or extract. It is one of very few things that they do not keep in their inventory."

"They gave you an inventory list as well?"

"Yep," Sheldon said with a helpless shrug.

"People that helpful always make me suspicious."

"That's because you're a cop, and a good cop at that," Sheldon retorted.

Mac grinned to himself as Flack's cheeks turned a slight shade of pink at the praise.

'Flack only blushes when he's either in the wrong or when he's interested and trying not to show it.' Mac thought to himself as he looked between his two guests. '_From the conversation going on, I'd say that the reaction had to be due to the second rather than the first. Which… that would be interesting. Especially if he's trying to deny it to himself. I wonder if Sheldon would give him a shot. As far as I'm aware, Stella and I are the only ones that know he's more open to such possibilities._'

"They've given me hard copies as well as soft copies of their inventory, so that we can cross reference if we like." Sheldon continued, unaware of Flack's reaction, and unmindful of Mac's amusement at the situation.

"We still have no clue as to who she is, either," Sheldon said sadly. "Neither her prints nor dental record are on file."

"And nothing on the sword either." Flack informed them.

There was a knock on Mac's door, causing all three to look up. A tall gentleman in a suit stood on the other side of the glass, his svelte form barely concealed by the impressive tailoring. He had brownish hair cut a little floppy over his eyes, and bright green eyes that stood out against his pale face. With all eyes on him, the stranger did not wait for an invitation. Instead, he opened the door and stepped through, opening up his badge holder as he moved.

"Hello, my name is James Norrington. I'm here from Interpol."


	2. International Flavor

_Title__: Lost Souls  
Chapter__: 2 – International Flavor  
Author__: ctrl_issue  
Fandom(s)__: CSI:NY/Mermaid Saga/PotC  
Rating__: T for Teen (for cursing, for violence, and for now)  
Pairings__: Flack/Sheldon, Sparrow/Norrington, Messer/"Montana"  
Disclaimer__: If you know it, I don't own it. And chances are, even if you DON'T know it, I don't own it.  
Summary__: Sometimes there are Lost Souls that wander this world, and no amount of science will ever be able to explain the how or the why.  
Author's Notes__: Done for NaNoWriMo, so don't expect quality here folks. It's just that the premise of this amuses me. Funnily enough, whenever I tell anyone, whether online or in real life, that this is my NaNo project, I inevitably get the same response. "For gods' sakes, why?!" Well, really. There are tons of reasons. I mean, why not? It can be done, but no one else is doing it. I felt like it. I thought it would be funny. See, the list goes on. At any rate, please keep in mind that NONE of these are "my" fandoms. I've never written in any of them before. Hell, I've barely read anything for CSI:NY. As such, you should be prepared for some OOCness going on here. I figure that's okay for NaNo. If I feel like it afterwards, I'll go back and edit things so that it's more… palatable. *snerk* Also, can you spot the OTHER fandom I included in this chapter?  
Word Count So Far__: 10.136 for the first chapter, plus 10.018_

**Lost Souls**

James watched as the other two men left the room. Specifically, he watched their reaction to his entrance, and the way they looked to the man behind the desk before they vacated the area. All three had stood when he had entered. '_But only one of them will remain. The man supposedly in charge._'

He had worked with and above a variety of types of men and women as both a constable and then later as a field agent for Interpol. On first blush, he could tell that the youngest man in the room was the blue-eyed tall fellow. The small, dark-skinned man was someone to be respected, though, as the man behind the desk relaxed when they shared a glance.

Finally, it was just him and the man behind the desk.

"I'm Detective Mac Taylor." The American said, his accent thick with something not very common to Americans on the television programs he favored.

'_But then, when is life ever like the television._' James thought to himself as he held out his hand. "I am sorry to just barge in here like this, but you and your people are on a very important case that has to be treated very, very, VERY delicately."

"I take it you're here about the human trafficking?" Mac asked as he sat back down. He indicated a seat opposite him for James to take. "I was wondering who was pulling the Fed's strings, but I have to admit, I didn't think it would be Interpol."

Easing into the still warm seat vacated by the smaller of the two former guests, James smirked. "Officially, yes, that is exactly why I am here. And might I say, your Feds were not very happy about having their strings pulled by us, either. You Americans… you do not like playing with the rest of us."

"I think it really depends on the game," Mac retorted, one eyebrow quirking upward. "However, you say that you're here officially for one reason. Unofficially?"

"Members of your team are investigating a death by poison," James said. "I've had experience with the group that tends to use said poison, as rare as the usage is. I've had it flagged across the globe, in case someone else ever reports finding it."

"You're talking about the poison used by the Mermaids." Mac said rather than asked.

"Indeed," James said as he leaned back into the chair. Thankfully, he had already been across the pond, so he wasn't too jetlagged, but he still wasn't quite used to this time zone. "I first ran across it when I was working an arms case in Singapore."

"What can you tell me about the poison?"

"What can you tell me about your people?" James countered.

Mac sat up, his hackles obviously up. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I mean, Detective, that while I will be working very closely with your federal government for the human trafficking case, I'm going to be working even more closely with your agents that are working on THIS case. And I hope they're good."

Mac narrowed his eyes. "The two men who just left my office are the two who are working on this case. Detective Donnie Flack is a career police officer, and this is by no means his first case working a poisoning, a B and E, or an investigation. The other is Doctor Sheldon Hawkes, a medical professional as well as a Grade-A scientist. They're two of the best that I've got, and I've got some damn fine individuals working under me.

"I see," James nodded. "Well, other than this particular poison comes from some rare fish that has never seen the light of day outside of small, rural fishing villages and the closed circle for the Mermaids themselves? There are no actual records, written records of this fish existing. Nothing about it's actual appearance. But I can say that it is a very large fish. It only takes a small amount to kill a person, but they've fed over a twenty-five people with one fish alone. I know, I had to count the bodies."

"What are its scales like?"

"There have never been any recovered."

"What?" Mac asked, a bit stunned.

"All we have ever been able to find is the meat, which carries the poison," James sighed as he shook his head. "So, tell me, Detective Taylor, how is it that you have a doctor working a case?"

"Question for question, huh? Interesting game."

"I find in these kind of situations, especially where you are going to start off hating me no matter what I do, it is easier to get all of the important questions out of the way first."

Mac grinned as he leaned back in his own chair. "Hate is a very strong word. But to answer your question, this is precinct is actually part of a very large experiment. There are a total of three like it, one here, one in Las Vegas, and one in Miami. Basically, the CSI team works very closely with regular detectives, to the point of interviewing and interrogating suspects, canvassing, and other roles usually reserved for beat cops and detectives. It's thought that with a more rounded, scientific view of the crime and crime scene we, as officers, are more likely to apprehend the correct criminal."

"And how's the arrest record as opposed to a regular precinct?"

"Our arrest record is about average," Mac replied easily. "But our conviction rate is top notch."

"Impressive."

"Let me ask you," Mac said, a devilish glint in his eyes. "If you're in charge of the human trafficking case… who do you have working the warehouse scene?"

'_He wants to play the field like this, does he? Fine, give him what he wants for now if it gets me what I want. Those girls are going to pay for what they did.'_ James grinned as he rubbed his chin, "Off the top of my head, I have no idea. But I'm more than welcome to suggestions."

**0-0-0-0-0-0**

Stella flipped through some of the papers she had picked up from the active files caseload.

"What do you have there?" A familiar voice asked.

Glancing up, Stella smiled. "Shelley Richie's case file."

"Oh, you want in on it?" Sheldon asked, amusement in his voice. "Don't you guys have enough going on?"

"Well, now that we're probably not going to be in on the human trafficking case anymore, I thought I would have some free time. And since you've been assigned what seems to be a tricky case…"

"Don't worry, Stella," Sheldon said as he shook his head. "This case is about as straight-forward as they come. We've already got almost all the evidence finished, the only thing I'm waiting for right now is to verify if some of the hairs I found on her were from her assailant or if they were from her dog."

"Her dog?"

"It's a Maltese. She had allergies, so she went with a special breed. Both her dog and her assailant have long white hair, so… I'm waiting for DNA test results."

"Which," Stella sighed. "We are somewhat backed up on."

"Hey, who knew we were going to have one of the machines break?" Sheldon shrugged helplessly. He took the file from her and absently flipped through it, though she knew him well enough to know that no matter how far away his thoughts might appear, he was still checking to make sure all the information was still in the file. '_Can't be too careful these days. Security and safety just aren't what they used to be._' "I'm about to go in there and do it the old fashioned way, so if you want to come in and help me out…"

"That's okay," Stella snickered. "I trust you can handle it."

"Stella!" Mac called from the door to his office.

Turning to her boss, she gave him a look.

"Gather the others, we've got the case after all."

'_Well, well, well… I wonder what's happened in the last five minutes…_' Stella nodded curtly. "I'll get them right now."

Turning back to Sheldon she saw that he was turning to go to the lab, as he had sad he would. Gently grabbing him by the arm, she asked, "Hey, are we still having dinner tonight?"

"Well, unless that restaurant up and leaves," he teased. "I know I'm good for it."

"Great. I'll see you at eight," she smiled, relieved. She had no interest in Sheldon, but she liked that he would go to different places with her and try them out, which she supposed was why he went to a lot of different sights around the city with as many different women. Not because there was anything romantic or sexual, but just for the companionship and fun of it.

He nodded and continued on to the DNA lab.

She turned to the break area to gather Lindsay and Danny.

"-I'm just saying… tofu isn't a real food." Danny said as he put a few quarters in the machine for a soda.

"It's made from soybeans, and is incredibly healthy for you," Lindsay countered as she stirred her drink.

"Hey, you two," Stella said, breaking in to their conversations. "Mac wants us in his office."

"Yeah?" Danny asked as he reached down for his prize. Standing again, he asked, "What's up?"

"Seems we're getting that case after all."

"Oh?" Lindsay asked, taking the lead between the two younger investigators.

The three of them made the quick walk to Mac's office. As they approached, Stella took note of the tall stranger with the pale green eyes that was sitting perched on the edge of Mac's desk. '_Wonder who that is? Seems relaxed, although Mac seems to be on his guard. We'll soon find out, I guess._'

She entered the room and sat down, Lindsay taking the seat next to her and Danny leaning against the back wall.

"Team," Mac said, acknowledging all of them, "I'd like you to meet Inspector James Norrington from Interpol."

Danny gave a low whistle and even Stella had to sit back in her chair. "Interpol?"

"Indeed," the young inspector said in a thick British accent.

"So…" Lindsay began, her eyes flickering between the agent and Mac.

"He's here regarding two cases," Mac explained moving to his seat.

"Interpol is very interested in the human trafficking case, as we're not sure where the head of this beast is, or rather we do not know where the need originates," James said, beginning the informal meeting. "The tail in, the places where this particular group recruits is across the spectrum. Europe, Asia, Australia, the Americas. No place is safe, and nothing is sacred. The only way we know that it is the same group is that they tend to go for the pregnant women, or those that are close to giving birth."

"The babies," Lindsay nodded.

"Those are their prize."

"Do you think that this is some weird, I dunno, adoption kind of thing?" Danny asked.

"If that were the case, things would be a lot simpler. I would almost want it to be that."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because there have been rare occasions where we've recovered the bodies of some of the children, usually a few years later."

"Bodies?"

"Always bodies. Never a live one." James sighed.

Stella could practically feel the rage coming off of Danny, and knew that he, especially, hated it when children were the victim. Clearing her throat with a light cough, she looked the inspector over from head to foot and back up again. "Mac says you are going to be working on two cases? This isn't a high enough priority that it warrants your full attention?"

James grinned at her, and though she knew it had to be coming, she still felt her heart do a slight flutter and her cheeks tinge with heat. "Oh, make no mistake, this is of UTMOST importance. Interpol is more interested in getting to the head and heart of this operation."

"But?"

"But this is not my top priority," James continued to grin. "There is another case that is being investigated here that I am much more invested in."

"Which one?" Lindsay asked.

"A mysterious death by poison." James said, and all the amusement and laughter drained away, leaving someone much more somber.

"It's the Jane Doe that Hawkes and Flack are working on." Mac informed them quietly.

"As I will be devoting most of my time and focus to that case, I will need to have some very reliable and thorough investigators under my direction for the human trafficking case." James continued. "People that know what they're doing and do not need to be micromanaged."

"Us," Stella said with a small smirk.

"I must warn you all, though. I am going on your Detective Taylor's word that this is the case," the inspector cautioned them. "Do not, under any circumstances, ruin this. There are too many lives at stake, and the threads are far too tenuous."

"We know our jobs, Inspector."

"As you say, Detective," James said. "Now, about the Jane Doe…"

"I saw Sheldon headed towards the lab."

"Lindsay, will you show Inspector Norrington here the way?"

"Sure thing," Lindsay agreed easily.

Stella watched the two leave, and then turned back to Mac. She saw the former marine pick up the phone and dial an extension.

"Who ya callin'?" Danny asked, moving to take the seat that Lindsay had just vacated.

"Hawkes," Mac replied. "Might as well warn him about his newest assistant."

**0-0-0-0-0-0**

James entered the cluttered evidence room. '_No, not cluttered, as that would promote contamination of evidence. Everything has a place and everything is in said place. This is more of a controlled chaos art form._' Looking around, and sometimes through, the glass walls and table, James tried to find the person he needed most.

"Dr. Hawkes?"

The petite doctor looked up from one of the far tables, dark framed glasses highlighting his natural pleasing aesthetics. "Agent Norrington?"

"Call me James," the former constable replied automatically.

"James, then," the doctor grinned.

"So, shall I be calling you Dr. Hawkes while we work together, or do you have a preferred name?" James asked as he found a stool to sit on.

The smaller man eyed him suspiciously, but a slight twist of the mouth and quirk of the eyebrow gave away some of his thoughts. "I guess that depends on how closely you want us to be working on this case."

"As far as I'm concerned, Sheldon," James said, taking the initiative. "This case is my main focus."

"You seem to be taking this one pretty personally." Sheldon said as he removed his gloves. "What's the story behind it?"

"Mmm," James grinned and shook his head, causing some of the longer locks of hair to fall towards his face. "This is a case full of mystery and memories for me. The first I prefer to think on while I'm sober, the second tend to dwell on while I am decidedly NOT sober."

"Bad memories, huh?"

"Our lives are full of them, and each with a story or five to tell." James smiled slightly as he nodded towards the table. '_And you are not going to be getting the full story. Not unless I'm near death again, or until they are all apprehended_.' "Speaking of which, what is the story being told with what you are working on?"

"Oh, this?" Sheldon said as he gestured to the table. "This isn't in regards to our case."

"No?" James asked. "That's unfortunate. Seems it would be a bit more straightforward than what I'm used to with these girls."

"Hmmm," Sheldon murmured with a smile. He jerked his chin in another direction. "I'm actually waiting on results of the stomach contents from our Jane Doe. Now that I can factor out what chemical components make the poison, I can figure out what else was in there with her dinner."

"You think whoever it was that poisoned the girl mixed it with her food?" the inspector asked, surprised. "You don't think it WAS her dinner?"

"If she just went with the poison, why was there so much extra food in her stomach?" Sheldon asked. "Now, granted, there wasn't much, but there was enough to get trace samples of."

"The poison is very fast acting sometimes," James warned. "Sometimes it can happen as soon as the first bite is ingested. Sometimes it takes a day or two. And some people are seemingly immune to the poison. As far as I am aware, there is no real timeline for the poison's effects."

"That's because every person is different," Sheldon nodded. "For instance, take a group of people and the same mixed drink. Some people will feel a slight buzz with the first sip, some people it takes half a bottle, plus mixing. Different backgrounds, different heights, different weights, different body types. There are even some races that feel the effects of alcohol differently than others. And going with the analogy that drugs are like other poisons, just in different doses, it is easy to see how people would react differently to a poison administered, especially if it were with a food."

James looked at the petite doctor for a moment and then grinned. "I can see why your Detective Taylor admires you so much."

A machine went off with a series of beeps before it began to spew papers. Sheldon went over to them, grinning. "I wouldn't say Mac admires me so much as respects what I know and do."

"And how is that any different than what I said?" James asked.

"There is a difference," Sheldon assured him as he went over the chemical components that were printed out before him. "Hmmm…"

"Hmmm?" a new voice called out, interrupting James and Sheldon's privacy.

Sheldon looked up immediately, and the small smile before turned into something a bit more genuine. "Hey Flack, how up-to-date are you with sushi restaurants?"

"I prefer my meat cooked, thank you," Flack answered as he came further into the room, those blue eyes going over him with careful scrutiny. He moved to stand almost protectively close to Sheldon, well within the smaller man's personal space, even by European standards. "This the Interpol Inspector?"

"That would be me," James replied carefully. '_What are you looking for, kid? What are you watching out for?_' Instead of voicing his curiosity, though, the British born investigator grinned benignly and asked, "Not into the exotic?"

"I like exotic just fine," Flack corrected, "But I'm not into poisoning myself with uncooked meat. You know how unhealthy that is?"

James raised an eyebrow. "Last I heard, Americans were anything but healthy."

"You would be surprised at what some of us are willing to put up with to have a healthy, long life." Sheldon said, breaking back into the conversation. "And, if not long, then at least at least happy."

"Now that I can believe," James grinned charmingly at Sheldon, though he kept his attention if not his eyes on the detective practically hovering nearby. "I do remember enough of my lore to know that most Americans are a bit hedonistic."

Sheldon snickered while Flack just rolled his eyes.

"Hey now, some of us aren't just out for jollies."

"I don't know, Detective Flack," James countered. "We're all out for what pleases us most, just what pleases one doesn't please the other."

"And before this degenerates into a conversation that none of us really want to get into," Sheldon interjected, obviously deciding to play the peace-maker, "we need to get back to the question about the sushi place."

"I know a few places, why?" Flack said, his angry eyes still on James.

"Because there's only one place I know of that serves sushi using Jade Pearl rice," Sheldon murmured. "But I have no idea what the place is called."

"How do you know about it, then?" James asked.

"I've been there," the doctor replied as he went back to the other side of the room. He put the papers down and reached into his pocket. James watched with quiet curiosity as the man pulled out his cell phone and dialed a quick number.

Deciding to leave the other man to his phone call, the older Brit turned to the other detective. "So, Detective Flack-"

"You know I don't care what you have to say to me, right?" Flack said, rudely placing his cards on the table. "You have a personal vendetta against whoever is behind this murder, and I get that, but I also know that when these things get personal, people get hurt. Good people. I don't want you to get the good doctor hurt."

"Thank you for being so blunt," James replied dryly. "I would never have guessed you felt that way considering the dirty looks you've been throwing at me since the minute you stepped through that door."

"Yeah, well," Flack answered in kind. "I just don't want there to be any cultural misunderstandings."

James snorted as he shook his head. "America and England really ARE two countries divided by the same language, now, aren't we."

"And once we've interviewed the people at the sushi place," Sheldon said, interrupting them, "and you two are done with your displays of bravado-"

"Hey!" Flack said, waving his hands in front of him. "I wasn't-"

"Trying to ruffle his feathers by displaying your own, it happens all the time in nature." Sheldon said with a quirk to his eyebrow. "I never expected to see it happen in my lab, though, especially by creatures that do not have feathers."

"Marking his territory," James nodded. "As a doctor, you should know that humans are just like any other animal, and we are all very particular about who we allow in our territories. Especially when foreign guests appear so unexpectedly."

"Exactly," Sheldon agreed, obviously giving the younger detective a way out. "But as I was saying, we can also go have a word with the manager at Knight's Landing Security, who installed the security system at Black Pearl, and who routinely make and destroy keycards for them."

"Sounds like a full afternoon," James commented as he stood back up. "Let's be off, shall we?"

**0-0-0-0-0-0**

Stella stood between Mac and Lindsay as they all looked towards the warehouse.

Back at the lab, Stella could still see the boxes and boxes and more boxes of evidence gathered by the Feds. Blood samples from the floor, pictures of the crime scene, shell casings, and litter. But not a single body to be found.

Danny was there, sorting and refilling and trying to get a computerized version of the scene going with the evidence they already had.

"So, where do we start?" Lindsay asked as she picked up her case.

"You can start with the front room. Stella, you take the left hall. I'll take the right."

"Okay," Stella said, "You take the high road, and I'll take the low road."

"And you'll get to Scotland before me?"

"Something like that," Stella smirked.

The three walked into the warehouse, turning on the lights as they moved.

"It's a shame we didn't have the lights on earlier," Lindsay said as she sat her case down in what appeared to be a relatively clean location. She knelt down to put on her gloves and grab her camera. "It would have made this place a little less creepy."

"I don't know," Stella said as she eyed the left hallway, and it's flickering, swinging lights. '_This place has to be as old as dirt. It's a wonder it's still standing._' "Something tells me that it would have just made me a bit more apprehensive."

"It's not the fear of the dark that's the most frightening," Mac acknowledged. "It's the fear of the unseen, the unknown."

"I once had a friend who was so terrified of the dark that she couldn't sleep alone. She always had to have someone in the room with her."

"What happened to her?" Stella asked, mystified that anyone could be so dependent on others.

"Not a month after she turned eighteen, she was engaged. She was getting graduation gifts and wedding presents all in the same month." Lindsay answered calmly, already snapping more pictures of the scene.

Stella shook her head as she donned her own gloves.

First came the pictures and measurements of the hallway, making sure to get each available scratch and grove along the hallway. As she made her way further and further away from the main entranceway and deeper towards the hole in the floor, she began to notice that some of the scratches on the floor were more like claw marks, dragging against the floor. Frowning, she took one of her measuring angles to get a better-documented account of the gauges.

As the flash went off, a tiny reflective shimmer caught her attention.

"Bingo," she murmured. She dug went back to her case and got out her tweezers. With delicate precision, she pried the shiny piece of flesh away from the wooden floorboard of the warehouse. "Now, what are you and what are you doing here?"

"Find something?" Lindsay asked.

"Some odd material," Stella said as she bagged the evidence. "I think it might be fish scales, but I'll test them when we get back to the lab."

"The feds were really good about collecting their evidence," Lindsay said with a sigh. She came to just inside the hallway, but made no move to get further in. "The floors are completely spotless of trash and shell casings, and while I can take pictures of the scene until the cows come home, I don't think I'm going to be getting anything useful from the walls that hasn't already been gotten."

"So, try the ceiling," Stella replied dryly as she turned to regard the younger investigator.

Lindsay opened her mouth as if to object, but then, tilted her head, as if she suddenly thought of something. "You know, that's not such a bad idea…"

Stella blinked. "Lindsay, I was joking."

"But I imagine that the ceiling is one place that they did not look, since it's so dark and ugly up there. It's still fairly low, blood splatter and GSR might still have reached up there. If nothing else, it will give us some clues as to where shots were fired and maybe where others were shot and at what angle."

Stella pursed her lips and thought about. In the end, though, she had to concede the point. "Okay then, good luck."

With a quirky smile, the younger female turned and walked back into her main area.

Hours later, when every square inch of the two main hallways and main entrance were recorded, including the ceilings, Stella took off her gloves with a grateful sigh.

"And just think, there are several other hallways, and we haven't even touched the main storage room." Mac said as he began taking of his gloves.

"That's tomorrow, yes?" Stella asked as she tried to pop her back, or at least relieve some of the stiffness.

"For now. Our cases are full and I for one have ran out of film. I want to get back to the lab and get fresh gear," Mac said. "Plus, I've been thinking…"

"Oh?"

"I'd like to try and interview the person who owns the warehouse, see what they know about this incident. See if we can track down who rented it for the occasion, or if it was supposedly vacant."

"Don't we have a file on that back at the lab?"

"I called Danny to ask, but he hasn't found a single reference to an interview with the owner of the warehouse, which leads me to believe that none was conducted."

"That's odd."

"I'll say. You would think that the feds would at least try to get every scrap of information they could about the place."

"Maybe they didn't want to tip the owner and renter off that something was up?"

"It's a thought and worth keeping in mind." Mac tilted his head to the side as he thought about it, his eyes going distant. "But I still want an interview with the owner of this place."

"Well, we can see if he's available," Stella said as she picked up her case.

"Lindsay?" Mac called out.

"Yeah?"

"Will you take this to the lab, bring back some fresh supplies?" Mac asked.

"Sure," she answered. "Mind if I ask what you two will be up to in the mean time?"

"Going for a short walk," Mac replied. "Down a long bridge."

**0-0-0-0-0-0**

Sheldon stood between Flack and James as the three walked down a back alley to the sushi restaurant. '_Probably trying to keep the peace between us._' James thought as he looked around at the unsettling scenery.

"You actually took a date here?" Flack asked as he looked around the area.

Like many other back alleys n New York, the walls were covered with graffiti and the ground was lined with trash and homeless. There was an unpleasant smell to the air, and the shadows caused by the tall buildings around them made the short trip amazingly cold.

"It was her idea," Sheldon replied nonchalantly. Turning his head to look at the taller detective, he informed him, "And we could handle ourselves."

"Still seems sketchy to me," Flack said, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Life is all about the journey to some," Sheldon retorted as he made a sharp turn into a previously unseen alcove. "And the destination to others."

James allowed the American detective to enter ahead of him, keeping his eyes out on the rest of the world. He didn't see anyone down either direction of the alley, so he felt safe enough entering the establishment.

And what an establishment it was!

The floor was clear glass overlooking an aquarium, with live fish swimming just underfoot. The walls were made of water and glass, waterfalls and bubbles. There were colorful sculptures of reefs and underwater life all around them. Even the ceiling had fish, as the entire room seemed to play on the idea of them being underwater. Past the small hostess booth, there were dimly lit tables scattered about a spacious main room.

But the most impressive feature had to have been the center of the room where the main source of light for the room seemed to be coming from. The ceiling and floor were joined together by a giant fish tank. And while James had seen some people decorate their more miniscule aquariums with mock-ups of divers and clamshells, or sunken ships, this cylinder enclosure seemed to be housing a life-sized, resting mermaid.

The sculpture itself was a tribute to both the legend as well as the stone working craft. '_That has to be made of stone. Metal would rust in there, and wood would rot. What else could it be?_' In her arms, she held two eggs, cleverly covering her bare breasts. Her hair was pulled back into a bun at the top of her head, with two bone white pins seemingly keeping the knot in place.

"Welcome to Miss Isago's Sushi House. Three to your party?"

James noticed that he wasn't the only one of their party caught unaware, as all three of them turned quickly to look at the young Asian hostess who greeted them.

She stood up to Sheldon's shoulder, and for all of James abilities, he oculd only hazard a guess at her age. '_She's sixteen. Maybe. Pretty. But far too young._' She wore an all black outfit that had an almost militant cut to it. Her ebony hair was tied back in a tight bun, with two pale white sticks keeping it in place, very much like those worn by the mermaid. '_Young, but professional._'

He and Flack flashed their badges at the same time, though he allowed the American to speak first.

"We're not here to eat, ma'am," the blue-eyed detective said kindly. "We're here hoping you can help us identify someone."

"Oh," she said, placing her hands behind her back and coming to a military-style parade rest. "Okay. My name is Sherri. Please, if I can be of any assistance."

The three shared a look before Sheldon pulled out a picture of the Jane Doe. "Do you remember seeing this young woman last night?"

"We see many women every night," the girl replied. Even so, she held out her hand to accept the photograph. "But perhaps, if she was remarkable…"

Sheldon held out the photograph.

She took the picture gently, and only then did James realize that she was wearing black gloves that matched the rest of her outfit. '_No prints to run, even if we needed them. That doesn't speak of a suspicious nature at all, oh no._'

"No, she does not look remarkable," the young woman said. "Not remarkable in the least. Very common, in fact. Although, she does appear to be quite dead."

"She is," Flack told her.

"Do you know who else might have been working last night? Maybe they might remember her?" Sheldon continued.

"Mm, what time?" Sherri asked. "We had different waitresses at different times."

"It would have been late yesterday." Sheldon replied softly.

"Mm, that would have been the Miyako sisters."

"Can we get some contact information?" Flack asked.

"Of course," she nodded as she went to the hostess station. She pulled out a small business card and began to quickly write down a number.

"Sherri!" Came a sharp, oddly accented cry from the shadows of the bar area.

"Yes, Mamma-Sama?" Sherri asked, stopping all that she was doing and looking towards the voice.

"Why have you not seated our guests?"

"We're here for an official investigation." James said as he flashed his badge once more.

"Oooh, Interpol," the woman chuckled as she came into view.

She was as Nordic as the hostess was Asian. Her blond hair was set in a tangle of curls atop her head, cascading down beautifully. She stood as tall as Flack did, which was only a few inches shorter than James. Her eyes were as pale blue as a summer sky in the Caribbean, and her skin was… flawless.

All in all, she looked to be a work of art come to life.

Until she spoke.

"International police, doing the work of the American police? Or is it the other way around this time?"

"Just an investigation into the death of a young woman," James said stiffly. "And the clues have led us here. And you would be?"

"My name is Mia Sake. And those clues would be?"

"Part of an on-going investigation." Sheldon answered smoothly.

"Of course," the older woman said.

"They are asking for the Miyako sisters' phone numbers."

"For what purpose?"

"To ask them if they have seen an unremarkable woman who seems to have gotten herself killed."

The blue-eyed woman snorted. "If they paid attention to anyone or anything other than money, it would be a sign of the end of times. But you can go ahead and ask them."

"If you do not mind me asking," James said, eyeing the woman. "Who is the owner of this establishment?"

"I am," the blond answered proudly. "My husband, God rest his soul, bought this… place for me. His wedding present, to be precise."

"I see," James nodded. "And have you ever been to Japan?"

"Many times," she smiled. She walked gracefully over to one of the bench where countless others had probably waited for an available table. "I actually grew up there, but I go back every few years to see my… family, as well as find new and interesting things to bring home."

"Oh?" James persisted. "Is that where you met your late husband?"

"Yes," Mia smiled, though her voice held no hint at wistfulness. "We met in a small fishing village in the Hyogo Prefecture. He was a wealthy businessman, and I… worked in a noodle shop."

"So, what, you two get married and come here to start a new life?"

"There are others of my family that live here," she said simply as she looked between the three of them. "Now, if that is all?"

"Do you know of any other restaurants that use Jade Pearl in their sushi dishes."

"We are the only ones in the city," the blond woman said proudly, sitting up taller and puffing out her chest. "The others prefer to use long grain white or jasmine, and then there are some that use brown rice. But we are the only ones to use Jade Pearl. It is very difficult to use for sushi."

"I see," Sheldon said, his eyes narrowing. "What about where you get your meat?"

"The fish market, first thing in the morning. Fresh fish is best fish."

"Thank you," Sheldon said, nodding to the woman.

"Thanks," Flack said right after, still eyeing the woman suspiciously.

James couldn't blame him, as he continued to keep his distance from the blond. He nodded his appreciation for her help as he walked over to the door, taking the lead on the way out.

"If you can think of anything that can help us," Sheldon said to Sherri. James turned to see him hand the young woman a business card. "Please, contact us."

She made an almost unseen look to Mia before she gave a respectful bow to Sheldon. "If I remember, I will call."

The three of them left the restaurant, somehow more on guard than when they had first entered.

"So, where to next?" James asked, eyeing the door.

"Security," Flack said. "Check the hardware of the keycard and see if hey can give us any insights to whether or not another skeleton key was made."

"And then…" Sheldon mused aloud. "I think I'd like to check out the docks, see where they get their fish. Maybe one of the fishermen might know where that exotic fish came from."

"And what did I tell you about giving out your business cards to people?" Flack asked, looking pointedly at Sheldon.

"That you are the detective, and that the only business card I should be giving out is yours," Sheldon replied with a sigh.

"That's right," Flack retorted. "So, why, exactly, did you give that little girl your business card?"

"I didn't."

"I saw you!"

"No, you saw me hand her a business card. You did not see me hand her MY business card."

"Oh," Flack said, all of the wind suddenly out of his bluster. "Well… who's card was it?"

"Yours."

"Mine?" The taller American asked, surprise naked in his voice. "When did you steal my cards?"

Sheldon smirked as he continued to walk, but did not answer the question. Instead he gave James a decidedly wicked look.

"Well," Flack sighed. "At least you've started to listen to me."

As the three of them walked out of the alley, James turned to look back the way they had come. No one was down the alleyway, and the only thing moving was the trash that littered the ground. However, as he turned to look forward again, an odd movement of shadow caught his eye. When he tried to focus on it, though, he didn't see anything out of the ordinary.

"You comin', Inspector?" Flack asked from up ahead.

"Yes, yes," James replied distractedly. When nothing else caught his attention, no other odd movements or flickerings, the British born inspector turned his attention back to his American compatriots. "Just enjoying the sights of your American tourist attractions."

"First time you've been to America?" Sheldon asked.

"Indeed," James nodded as he picked up his pace. "Although I feel that it will not be my last."

**0-0-0-0-0-0**

A tiny bell chimed as Mac opened the door to the warehouse owner's office. Inside, there were three people of various ages milling about. One was a young black female with her arms filled with folders and files. The second was an Indian black man with thinning hair, his portly belly causing his shirt to stretch to within an inch of his life. The third and final person in the room was a knockout of a white woman, somewhere in her early thirties with round glasses and black hair that reached to her mid-back.

The office smelled of old coffee and mildew, but was surprisingly uncluttered. The carpet underfoot felt a bit off, as if there were only wood planks underneath it. There were a few potted plants here and there, but otherwise, the place seemed more organized than Stella could have hoped for.

"Who are you and what do you want?" The dark-haired woman asked in a thick Russian accent as turned to the detectives, crossing her arms as she did so.

"I'm Detective Mac Taylor," Mac said. He nodded towards Stella and said, "And this is my associate, Detective Stella Bonasara."

"Ah, you are here about the raid earlier today," she said. She nodded towards the heavyset Indian man. "I will return with my… partner and we shall be seeing if the price of renting one of your storage sheds comes down any."

"And I told you, Miss Cobray, that the price is fixed. This aint some kind of market place bazaar where you can try to haggle the price. This is America, and when I say it costs two grand per month, I mean that it cost two grand per month!"

The raven-haired woman made a very rude sound as she strode away from the obvious owner and out the door.

"That woman ain't nothing but trouble," the aged man sighed as he shuffled over to the larger of the two desks in the room. "Mark my words, Jezebel, she's gonna be back and she's gonna be trouble."

"Yes, sir," the young woman said. She eyed the two detectives suspiciously before she headed over to the filing cabinets.

"Welcome, my friends. My name is Peter." The man said. "So, what can I do for you?"

"I was wondering if you could tell me about the person who rented the warehouse that was raided this morning."

"Well, like I told that federal agent guy, it was rented by a real bombshell of a girl, real sweet piece," he said.

From the filing cabinets, Jezebel snorted in annoyance. "You say that about all the blonds!"

"But this one really was!" he said.

"Whatever, old man," she retorted. "Just remember that your wife can come in here at any time and hear you."

"Oiy! Don't curse me like that!" Peter said with a mock shiver. He turned his attention back to the dectives. "But you want to know more about this beautiful woman, yes?"

"Yes," Stella smiled.

"Well, I can tell you she didn't look or sound like trouble when she came in here. But she did pay in cash, which isn't that uncommon around here," the old man said. "And I can tell you that she was from a fine area, she smelled like expensive perfume."

"Do you have a name?"

Turning back to the girl, Peter called out, "Jezebel!"

"I already gave the Feds a copy of the file, do you want me to make another?" she asked suspiciously.

"Be nice to the cops," Peter warned. "No telling when you're going to need their help."

The young woman gave him a look that spoke volumes, but put down the files she held in her hand and went over to her computer. With a few quick clicks, she went back to the filing cabinet and went to one of the lower drawers. Kneeling down, she opened the drawer and pulled out a copy of the file.

"You don't keep them in numeric number?" Mac asked as he eyed the file.

"We want discretion here," Jezebel said. "But we also want to be able to find things. I have it set up in the computer that every new renter gets a new file. A proper sorting method gives me the ability to pull up which shed they rent, time, payment history, even when they activate and deactivate the security that may or may not come standard with the place."

"Did this specific warehouse have security?"

"Nope," she replied. "Didn't want it. Said they had their own brand of security. And if what I heard that went down in there is true, I'd say their brand of security is pretty damn effective, whatever it was."

"A bit too effective," Mac warned.

Looking over his shoulder at the file, Stella noticed there was an ID of the renter. 'Bombshell is right. If she can take this good of a Driver's License, she had to be absolutely stunning in person.' "I see you got a copy of her ID."

"It only makes sense," Jezebel retorted. "She's paying cash, we still need some proof of who she is. Otherwise…"

"Otherwise there's trouble," Peter nodded. "My Jezebel, she's a smart girl. Named for a troublesome woman, she was but she fights fire with fire!"

"Indeed she is a smart young lady," Mac agreed. "And you're lucky she's here. She's going to keep you out of trouble."

"Big time," Stella murmured.

"Flattery will get you guys nowhere," the young woman in question sighed. "But if you can give me about five minutes, I can make another copy for you guys so maybe you can get somewhere other than here."

"What your tongue," Peter warned. "I swear-"

"I'll be making copies," Jezebel said, interrupting her employer.

"I swear," Peter sighed as he watched her retreat to the back room. "Women and girls… nothing but trouble. The whole lot of them."

Stella caught Mac trying not to laugh.

"Maybe," Stella said tightly. "But we get things done."

**0-0-0-0-0-0**

James sighed as he tossed his suit jacket onto his hotel chair. '_Dead tired doesn't even begin to describe how I feel. At least I had lunch_.' Walking further into the room, he noticed that his things had already been brought up to the room. "At least that's a universal thing. Money does buy you comfort, even if it can't buy you … anything else."

He strode into the bathroom and began undressing, placing his clothes neatly in a stack, off to the side. While he did so, he avoided looking at the mirror, a habit he had acquired after the last time he had investigated the Mermaids.

Just as he was about to begin brushing his teeth, his phone went off. Frowning he grabbed it and noticed an unfamiliar number. 'But then, all the numbers around here are unfamiliar.' With a deft click, he answered, "This is Inspector Norrington."

"Norrington, it's Taylor," came a distinct voice. "I hope I haven't caught you at a bad time."

James looked down, noticing that he was only wearing his boxers, and that he still had his toothbrush in his hand. Rolling his eyes, he replied, "Not at all. How can I be of assistance, Detective?"

"I was wondering if you could tell me how Interpol knew where the traffickers were going to be."

James's eyebrows rose at the audacity of the question. "Are you questioning our research skills, or do you have another point to make?"

"It's just… my team and I went and spoke with the owner of the warehouse. He said that one of the Feds interviewed him, but there's no record of it in any of the files that were provided. Not only that, but the man was able to provide an ID on the woman who rented the space," Mac said, trying to explain his stance. "So, since your people and the Feds didn't follow that lead, I'm wondering how that warehouse was even targeted."

"Ah, I see." James said as he put his toothbrush down. He walked over to his bed to sit down and began to explain, "We went with a tip about a cargo ship, code named Flying Dutchman. Said to have left a decent sized port in eastern Asia and was headed here. Normally, it would have made more sense for that ship to go to San Francisco, a much closer port, but this particular ship was vested into coming to New York. A little bit of further digging granted us a shipman who didn't make the boat."

"And the crewman told you where the ship was located?"

"No, but a search of his home gave us all the information we needed." James said. "We contacted the American authorities and tried to use negotiations and talk to get them to intervene. When that didn't work, or rather when that just prolonged the process, we started pulling strings."

"Which was why the Feds were suddenly all over this case."

"Exactly."

"Is Interpol in the habit of fighting dirty?"

'_Some are_,' James thought uncharitably. "Interpol is in the habit of getting drugs, slavers, and killers off the streets and into jails. We don't care whose jails. We are, however, always mindful of international law, and customs of the land on which we walk."

"Meaning you're willing to bend the rules if that's the custom of the country you are working in."

"I follow the rules, Detective," James warned him. "They are there for a reason."

"But not everyone does."

"No, not everyone does," James conceded. "And they are more of the fool for it, too."

"So, did you know about any interviews with the owner of the warehouse?"

"To be blunt, Detective, I wasn't paying that close attention to it. I've been more caught up with the poisoning case," James answered honestly. "But I gave you all the files that Interpol could pry from the Feds. If your American government is hording their information, there is very little I can do at this point."

"So, no way you can pull a few more strings?"

"Not even if I felt that the situation called for it," James replied.

"I see," Mac sighed over the phone. "Well… how is your case going?"

"Slowly," James said. "But, I'm hopeful."

"Do you mind my asking… why are you so focused on this case? Did one of the Mermaids attack you or someone you were close to?"

"No, nothing like that." James replied, he looked to the side, to the mirror above the hotel dresser.

And for a moment, he saw someone else's reflection. Someone a bit more haggard with longer, paler brown hair. There was a bloody red stain on his white blouse. But no matter his appearance, he still had James's green eyes.

Turning away quickly, James tried to return to the conversation. Pinching the bridge of his nose to avoid rubbing a scar he had just under his left breast, he asked, "Is there anything else I can do for you, Detective?"

"You can answer my question."

"Perhaps another time," James replied shakily. 'Perhaps another lifetime, in fact.'

"Then no, there's nothing else right now."

"Good," James sighed, relieved. "Then I shall see you at some point tomorrow morning, after I have visited your fishing docks."

"Oh?"

"Your Doctor Hawkes wants to see if any of the fishermen are bringing in exotic meats."

"Good idea," Mac said, and James could swear he could almost feel the man nodding on the other end of the phone. "Well, you had best get some sleep."

"I know," James sighed. "They pull into the harbor at an ungodly hour of the morning."

Mac chuckled on the other end. "Not a morning person?"

"Hardly." James retorted. "But, good night, Detective."

"Good night, Inspector."

**0-0-0-0-0-0**

Stella smiled as she saw Sheldon enter the small restaurant. He was of course dressed as immaculately as he could be considering he had just enough time to get off work, get home to shower and change, and to get over here. She stood up to get his attention, and saw his face light up with a long familiar smile. "Hey there, stranger."

"Hey yourself," he retorted as he wrapped his arms around her in a platonic hug.

From the moment she had met the petite doctor, Stella had felt unthreatened by him. The relaxed feeling was helped by the fact that she was taller than him as well as by the sense that he was never sexually interested in her. She got more of a vibe from Mac and Flack than she did with Sheldon. When she had discovered his 'dirty little secret', it had come as more of a "huh" moment than anything else.

Although, the fact that she caught him in the middle of a kiss with someone he didn't feel like introducing her to was probably as embarrassing for him as it was for her, but that was neither here nor there. Nothing was really said about the incident, but she did mention to him that it didn't change anything for her.

Of course, after that, their relationship did change and went on a decidedly different course. It became a relationship that seemed to be one where they were more of siblings than coworkers, but that was only when they were off the clock. During work hours, Sheldon was nothing but professional. '_You can't pick your family… unless you do. And I think I've picked mine well._'

Letting go of the hug, the two turned back to the host.

A short wait later, the two were seated at a quiet table in the back and very few people around them. They were given bread and water as well as menus. And then they were left alone to talk and review their dinner options.

"Want to split an appetizer?" Stella asked, eyeing the calamari.

"Depends on which one you want," Sheldon replied.

"What are you in the mood for?" She asked as she peered over her menu.

"We were at a sushi place earlier today, so I'm thinking seafood is going to be on the menu tonight," the dark-skinned doctor answered.

"Good, then calamari it is," she nodded decisively. "So, was the sushi place part of the investigation or… something else?"

"Investigation, why?"

"Well, if it was investigation of the poisoning case, I know not to eat there," Stella grinned wickedly. "But if it was for fun, then I would want to check it out."

"It's a nice place," Sheldon answered. "I've eaten there before."

"Yeah?"

"Mmhmm. My friend Julia really likes the place," he answered. "I think it's because of the floors, which are all glass looking down into a pond kind of thing. There are fountains all over the place, too. Very nice, very trendy, and very expensive."

"I bet," she replied.

"So how is your case going?"

"It's… going." Stella sighed. "Lots of work to process. Lots of blood and lots of area."

"Sounds like you guys are going to be tied up for a while."

"I'm not planning on seeing my apartment for a while," Stella replied sadly. "Which it's a good thing that me and Mac are single and that Lindsay and Danny are seeing each other."

"No one to get jealous," Sheldon chimed in with a rueful grin.

"Speaking of special some-ones….?"

"Don't go there," her date warned her.

She blinked at him before she took a sip of her water. As if on cue, the waiter came back to their table. They ordered drinks and an appetizer, as well as their entrees. Once the waiter was gone, the two leaned forward to talk quietly again.

"Was it that bad?" Stella asked. "I mean, you seemed to really like him…"

"Until I got him out on his own, away from his comfort zones," Sheldon replied dryly. "Like the book store and his favorite coffee shop."

"So what happened?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?" Stella asked, completely confused.

"Mud is more interesting," Sheldon answered, irritated. "He barely spoke, and when he did, it was quiet and mumbled. There just... wasn't any life to him."

"I'm sorry," she said with a wince. "I'd say there were more fish in the sea-"

"Please, no fish jokes," Sheldon replied with a ghost of a smile. "It's been a long day, and it's going to be an even earlier morning, and I can already tell that I am going to be up to the gills with fish jokes and puns."

"Oh?"

Sheldon looked around before he leaned back in his chair and shook his head. "Our Jane Doe was found with a key to the building she was discovered in. We had hoped that it would give us another avenue to investigate. Suffice it to say, the keycard seems to be a dead end. While it looks like it belongs to the building, the actual design inside is completely foreign."

"So…?"

"So this means that Investigator Norrington, Flack, and myself will be down at the docks bright and early tomorrow morning at four to see what the catch of the day is, and if anyone has ever brought in anything more exotic than shark."

"Ahh," Stella said with a nod of her head. "So, you've spent the day with Investigator Norrington. What do you think of him?"

Sheldon grinned wickedly at her. "Why, are you interested?"

"As if," she laughed. "My luck is even worse than yours. It seems just about every man I date in the past few years turns into a psychotic killer. I'm thinking staying single for a while might be the smarter plan, at least until we've locked up a few more of the crazies."

"I don't know, crazy might be fun," Sheldon said wistfully. "Better than boring any day."

"So?" Stella persisted. "Which is he? Crazy or boring?"

"Well," the doctor said as he looked up in memories. "He seems… very by the book when it comes to the actual procedures, but he isn't stiff or cold while he works. He's a bit… mathematical about it."

"Boring?"

"I wouldn't go that far," Sheldon said hesitantly. "He… I don't know. He just reminds me of an older, more mature, even-tempered Flack. He has a goal, and he's very passionate about it."

"As opposed to Flack, who is ruled primarily by his passions and his ties to people," Stella said quietly. They had had tried to profile their coworkers often enough in the past, trying to figure out the relations between their coworkers and themselves as well as trying to figure out how each other perceived the world. "So, his passion is tempered by…?"

"By experience, but it is that experience that gives him his passion."

"He sounds complicated."

"You asked," Sheldon said with a shrug.

"So? What else?"

"He's gay, if that's where you are going with this."

"He is? Are you sure?" Stella asked. "I mean, it could be that he's, you know, European."


	3. Living Ghosts

_Title__: Lost Souls  
Chapter__: 3 – Living Ghosts  
Author__: ctrl_issue  
Fandom(s)__: CSI:NY/Mermaid Saga/PotC  
Rating__: T for Teen (for cursing, for violence, and for now)  
Pairings__: Flack/Sheldon, Sparrow/Norrington, Messer/"Montana"  
Disclaimer__: If you know it, I don't own it. And chances are, even if you DON'T know it, I don't own it.  
Summary__: Sometimes there are Lost Souls that wander this world, and no amount of science will ever be able to explain the how or the why.  
Author's Notes__: This is my NaNo project. I should warn for Slash, OOC-ness, and WTF-ery all around. It's just that the premise of this amuses me. At any rate, please keep in mind that NONE of these are "my" fandoms. I've never written in any of them before. Hell, I've barely read anything for CSI:NY. I figure that's okay for NaNo. If I feel like it afterwards, I'll go back and edit things so that it's more… palatable. *snerk* Oh, and by the by, no research was done for this, so don't even ask me of the docks and piers situation is even possible. I have no idea.  
Word Count So Far__: 20.154 for the first two chapters, plus 10.300 for this one._

**Lost Souls**

The sun was still hours from climbing up the horizon, but Sheldon had already been awake for over an hour. He leaned back against the bench where he sat, trying to get comfortable when the structure had been seemingly designed for exactly the opposite. He buried his hands in the deep pockets of his favorite blue pea coat, thankful that he had thought to bring hand warmers. The boats were still out, but there were already a few people gathering, trying to get an early morning in.

Looking around, he noticed that Flack was still waiting in line, trying to get a decent cup of coffee. '_Good luck with that. Considering how early it is in the morning, I bet that stuff they're serving could jump start a nuclear sub._' The blue-eyed detective was in his black trench coat, bundled up tightly against the early morning chill.

"If you were still sleepy, you should have asked your detective to get you a cup." Norrington said from beside him.

"Not a matter of being sleepy," Sheldon replied automatically. "Just curious."

James gave him a look that said he believed otherwise.

"How long is that line anyway?"

"About as filthy as the public bathrooms here," James snorted. "As in, very."

Sheldon chuckled, "Yeah, okay, I'll give you that."

The two sat in silence for a little while longer. Long enough for Flack to move two spaces ahead in line.

"So, James, what is life like for you in England?" Sheldon asked, trying to break some of the monotony of waiting.

"When I was younger, life was good," the green-eyed inspector said with a small smirk. "I come from a well off family, so I went to the best schools, and had the best parties."

"But?"

"But all that gets rather boring after a time. I thought I wanted adventure, and I thought I could get it by being a policeman. You see them all the time on the telly, running and catching bad guys. I thought… if I was going to have a good time, I could have it by being a hero."

"So, you became a cop."

"Yes, and a damn good one, too," James replied wistfully. "I was young, headstrong, determined, and intelligent. I made advancements when others could only stand by and stare. Unfortunately, there are always mean-spirited people in the world, and they began spreading rumors that my advancements were because of my family's money."

"I take it that's when you joined Interpol?"

"Indeed," the taller man said. "I thought, well, if policing this small jurisdiction is like this, then maybe policing a larger one would offer me the challenge that… that I needed."

"Did it?" Sheldon asked. "Did you find that challenge fighting for all of England rather than just your precinct?"

"I'm not in England for the most part," James said with half a shrug. "I haven't seen home in… years. That's something they forget to mention to you when you join up, that visits home are going to be irregular if you really devote yourself to your job. Then again, I guess the same could be true for any workaholic."

"Oh?" The smaller framed man asked. "Where do you spend your time, then?"

"I used to do a lot of undercover work, usually with pirating and trafficking. I used to be the unknown scourge of all the pirates out there. They never knew where I would be next or even what I looked like."

"What happened?"

"I died."

"What?"

"I died," James said with a shiver. The inspector seemed to withdraw in upon himself, burying deeper within his black coat as he began to spin his story. "It was in the middle of a raid, and I had to blow my cover or one of my fellow agents would have died. Because of that, I got survivalists' knife through my chest."

Sheldon looked back over to Flack, and noticed that he was only two away from the counter. And that the blue-eyed detective was watching them from where he stood, his bright eyes so easy to see even against the distance that separated them.

Turning back to the man sitting next to him, Sheldon asked the obvious question, "So, how long did it take to revive you?"

"They didn't."

"Then how are you still alive?"

"Have you ever heard the legends about the people who die at sea?"

"No… I haven't." The doctor said, deciding to humor the other man.

"There is the story of the Flying Dutchman, the ghost ship, that carries the souls of those who die at sea to the afterlife."

"You saw it?"

James closed his eyes and smiled, though there was no humor to the gesture. "Something like that."

"So, how are you still alive?"

"The Captain of the Flying Dutchman knew me."

"What?" Sheldon asked.

"He knew me, said something about… regrets and second chances… and sent me back," James replied, opening his eyes. "And here I am."

Sheldon eyed the other man for a moment before he shook his head. "I've heard of near death experiences, but nothing quite like that."

"I know. I was hoping for a bright light and warmth, too. Instead I got a nightmare, and then revived to a gaping whole in my torso. Funny enough, the tip that lead Interpol to the human trafficking here was from someone talking about the Flying Dutchman."

"Is that how you got assigned to the case?"

"No," James said as he shook his head. "I took that case because of this case."

Sheldon turned to look over at Flack again and saw the detective coming towards them, two cups of coffee in his hands.

"And it seems your young Detective has decided to get you coffee after all," James commented, a hint of amusement returning to his voice once more.

Sheldon chuckled as he shook his head.

"So, what are you two talking about?" Flack asked as he handed Sheldon the second cup.

The older male was surprised to find that it was sweetened to his liking already. 'This is either a sign that he's paying attention to me, which is rather flattering, or that we've worked together too much. I'm betting on the second.' "We were talking war stories."

"War stories?"

"Seems you're not the only one to get your innards ripped out," Sheldon said, remember a bomb blast that had caused the young detective to almost lose his life. "Only he actually died."

"Yeah?" Flack asked, genuinely interested. "What was that like."

"It was… not a place that I would want to spend eternity, I'll say that much." Norrington answered.

"I can imagine," Flack retorted caustically. "So, speaking with some of the regulars, from what they're saying the first of the boats are going to be pulling in here any minute now. However, the ones with the sushi-grade fish are going to be here in about an hour they said, and they're going to be pulling into pier 39."

"Then we best start making our way over there," James nodded, already standing.

Sheldon smiled as he stood up. "Thanks for the coffee, Flack."

"Yeah, no problem," he replied with a wry smile.

No mention was made of the fact that there was no third cup for James.

**0-0-0-0-0-0**

Mac yawned as he entered the lab where Danny was working. Lindsay and Stella were finally done processing the warehouse, and were due back into the lab later in the day. As it stood, they had all been working through the night, but considering the number of missing and supposed dead… it was a given that no one would be getting any sleep anytime soon.

"What have you got for me, Danny?" Mac asked as he came to stand just behind the younger, scruffier male.

"Not a whole lot, which is speaking volumes to me," Danny replied.

"Care to explain that statement?"

"Well, I've found a driver's license, with her picture, which is what I've been starting from," he said, bringing up the picture of the woman.

"Name is Bella Langley. Age 49, though she doesn't look it to me. She's blond haired, blue-eyed, and stands about 5'8", which is all well and good. But… as far as records in the system are concerned, she only has that license, a business license, and a marriage certificate."

"Okay…"

"Mac," Danny said, turning to the other man. "I can't find a social security number for this woman, a birth certificate, or anything like that. No medical records or dental records or even school records."

Frowning, Mac turned back to the monitor. "What kind of business license?"

"She owns an antique shop."

"Reason enough to rent a warehouse," Mac murmured. "But not against the docks. Too much of a risk in damaging the merchandise."

"Right," Danny said. "However, checking her financial records, which are a matter of public record because it's a business, she never rented the warehouse. Or, if she did, the money came from somewhere else."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, it seems her shop is barely staying afloat."

"Tough economic times makes for thrifty shoppers," Mac said absently. "And things like antiques and other artifacts get passed over for more basic needs."

"Yeah, well.," Danny sighed. "I'd just like if some of those basic things included a paper trail. She doesn't even have a line of credit for her business. Almost everything she does seems to be done with cash! Which, how is that possible? I mean, I know she gets money deposited to her account electronically, but how does she run a business with cash?"

"It was how it was done way back in the day. Considering she deals with antiques, maybe she knows a bit more about doing business the old-school way than the average person. You said she was married?"

"Yeah, to a one Richard Langley, died of a heart attack three years ago."

Trying to stifle another yawn, Mac looked around the room. "Anything else?"

"I've got an address for both the antique place as well as the lady's residency." Danny said, holding up a small piece of paper for his supervisor to inspect.

"Good work," Mac said absently, taking the note from the younger man. "I'd recommend getting some sleep before you pass out. We can process more of the evidence with clearer heads and full stomachs."

"Yeah, well… after I finish uploading the rest of the images from the cameras," Danny said with a rueful shrug. "Might as well get it all done in one sitting, ya know."

"Alright," Mac conceded. "But you had better get some rest. I don't want something overlooked because-"

"I know, I know," Danny smirked. "With as many all-nighters as I've pulled, you think I haven't got that speech memorized from both you AND Stella? I swear, you'd think I was a kid again."

'You are one to us," Mac thought as he shook his head, still smiling. He moved back to his office to go over a few other reports, trying to get things sorted and not letting anything else fall through the cracks. _'I'll have to set up a time for me and Stella to interview Mrs. Langley, see what she knows about the warehouse, if anything. Someone could have just as easily have stolen her ID, though… how would they have known to go after hers? And why doesn't she have a paper trial. How can she open a business without having a line of credit?_'

**0-0-0-0-0-0**

"I don't think this is getting us anywhere," Flack practically growled as the walked over towards the second to last of the incoming ships.

"I have to admit… I agree with you," James sighed. Looking down both directions of the pier, he could only shake his head. "Seems to me the only thing we're getting closer to is dawn."

Sheldon sighed as he nodded his head. "It was worth a shot to see if any of these vessels had come from the area where the Mermaid's fish is known to reside."

"That's if those are the only locations," Flack said dejectedly. "It's a big world. Maybe someone caught one of them and didn't report it."

"Or maybe some of them are lying," the British investigator said, obviously trying to encourage the Americans.

Just then, Flack's phone went off.

"What the hell?" The blue-eyed detective grumbled as he fished for the small device. "Who'd be calling me at this hour?"

"Maybe a date you forgot about?" Sheldon teased him.

"I don't forget about any of my dates, thank you," Flack shot back with a smirk. He continued to walk with them as he answered his phone. "Hello, this is Detective Flack."

James and Sheldon were both startled when the tall detective came to an abrupt halt.

"We would love to talk about her," Flack said carefully. "Where are you?"

Sheldon looked between Flack and James and then back at Flack.

"You're here? Pier 42?"

As Flack spun around to head in the other direction, towards the mentioned pier, Sheldon jerked his head to James, indicating that they would follow.

"That's the same pier as the warehouse raid," James commented softly as he quickened his pace to keep up with Flack's long strides.

Sheldon was practically jogging to keep up with the taller males. "Who is it?"

"When we get there, where will you be?" Flack asked the other person on the phone, ignoring both of his companions. "What will you be wearing?"

A few quick explanations over the phone later, Flack was snapping the phone off and shoving it back in his pocket. "Please tell me you brought your gun this morning, Doc."

"Yes, why?" Sheldon asked, concern naked in his voce.

"Good, because something is going down right now, and I don't think it's gonna end that pretty."

"Who was that on the phone?" James asked.

"Our little friend from the restaurant, Sherri," Flack said. "She sounded nervous, and I'm betting it wasn't her idea to call us."

"Any of you think her asking to meet with us on the same pier as the warehouse raid is a bit… off putting?"

"That's one way of describing it."

The saw the yellow tape for the distant warehouse before they noticed anything else. James took a few deep, calming breaths as he reached for his gun, brushing his hand against it to reassure himself that it was, indeed, still there.

Looking up at the sky, Flack shook his head. "Just our luck, it's going to be overcast today. Means that dawn might not even show up."

"Maybe she'll want to meet outside?" Sheldon said hopefully.

But even as the doctor uttered the words, a dark clad figure seemed to materialize from the side of another building. James tensed, unsure if that was actually Sherri or not, as this figure seemed a bit taller. But whether it was or not, it was definitely a female. Once she was sure that they had seen her, she took off running towards the taped up warehouse.

"This is not good," Flack said as he pulled his gun. "HALT! POLICE!"

"Bloody Hell," James cursed as he took off after her.

The woman was surprisingly fast, covering the distance in a matter of moments. '_Thank God she never tried out for the Olympics. No other country would even stand a chance!_' James was well aware that the other two men were right behind him, but they were only halfway too the warehouse as she dashed through the entranceway. '_She didn't even slow down to open the door, it just opened for her… as if someone was on the other side, waiting for her…_'

Alarm bells ringing in his ears, James pulled up to the side of the warehouse, his gun naked in his hands and pointed at the ground. Sheldon moved to lean up against the wall behind him, while Flack rested on the other side of the door.

"Now might be a good time to call for back-up," James said, indicating Flack's cell phone.

"Ya think?" Flack asked. But even as he reached for it, there came such an awful sound from inside the warehouse that all three of them froze where they stood. When the sound did not repeat, Flack nodded towards Sheldon. "Hey, Doc."

"I'm on it," the smaller man said, reaching for his own cell.

As if in answer to the request, a sharp, feminine scream of pain echoed in the stillness.

James looked at Flack and nodded. "Three?"

"Three." Flack agreed.

Together, they looked at the door and, almost as if they had practiced it, yelled, "THREE!"

They spilled into the main front room, each swinging their gun out and around, searching for anyone who might be considered a hostile. '_Right now, everyone except Sheldon and Flack are hostiles. I'm taking no chances, because these women do NOT take prisoners._' They stepped carefully into the quiet room, searching for where the dark-clothed figure might have gone.

It was so quiet in the room, in fact, that James could hear Sheldon outside, calling for back up.

There were a few crates left in the main room, far fewer than James remembered being in their before. There was no blood splattering them, though, so he could only assume that they had been buried by the others that had been there. He kept an eye on them, though, as he knew that the young woman they were after could very well be behind one of them. There were a few lights on, which was some comfort, but James didn't want to try and reach for the light switch, as he wasn't sure if the place was rigged with explosives. '_My luck, it is…_'

"You wanna take the left side and I'll take the right?"

"Sounds fair," James nodded.

"I've got your back," Sheldon said as he came into the room.

James gave a curt nod without actually looking at either of the other men. Carefully, he began to move towards the left hallway.

However, before he managed to breach that entrance, the door to the warehouse slammed shut behind them and three heavy figures seemed to materialize from the walls and roof.

"You should have left well enough alone," a woman hissed.

Faster than James could turn around a heavy object slammed into him from behind, knocking him to the ground.

Trying to roll with the power behind the maneuver, James tucked himself and went with it. '_That's going to leave a mark,_' he thought to himself even as he grimaced. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Flack pushing Sheldon out of the way, covering him even as shots were fired into the dim structure.

"Foolish humans," he thought he heard one of the women growl.

Something was clawing at his back, but James tried to shake it off. Grunting with effort, he rolled to his side and pointed his gun…

At Sherri.

Her eyes were fairly glowing with rage as she stared down the barrel of his gun. "You made the Mermaids very, very angry."

"Get off me or I'll shoot you," James said, hating the way his voice shook. His gun was pointed directly at her forehead, almost touching her skin. In the time it took him to exhale, he thought about how close they were, how he didn't want to shoot her, how this wasn't what was supposed to happen.

"Sherri, kill the mongrel!" Came a high-pitched command.

James never saw her reach for her sword, but suddenly it was all he could see as it arched up, above their heads. A flash of light from the window to the room reflected off of it, and the world fell into a bizarre kind of slow motion.

'_I'm going to die. Again._' James thought. He could hear both Flack and Sheldon firing their guns. He could hear the impact of those bullets, soft targets meaning soft bodies. But his eyes were strictly on the short sword headed towards him.

Green eyes never left the blade until a gunshot sounded not a foot away from his head.

The shot rang true and Sherri's head snapped backwards, a large hole now apparent in the middle of her forehead. A strong hand grabbed James by the arm and dragged him behind a crate, the only kind of cover in the entire room.

Still a bit shell shocked, it took James a moment to realize that the person who dragged him to safety was neither the good doctor nor the American detective. In fact, James had never seen this particular man in his life.

The man was such a hodge-podge of… things that James didn't know where to look first. He wore a mish-mash of clothes, some new while other pieces were obviously old, and all of them were a variety of colors and styles. The stranger also had a short beard that he had somehow braided and beaded. He had long, straight hair, though he wore a blue bandana over the top of his head, as if it were head rag. '_Odd styles for an odd man._'

"Really, if you're going to be fighting mermaids," the stranger said, his voce sounding rough yet lyrical. "Have the good sense to at least go into a knife fight with a gun that you're willing to use."

"Thank you," James said, his mind flashing back to the first time he was stabbed.

The stranger frowned as he leaned in closer, a bare inch from James's nose. "You look familiar? Have I threatened you before?"

And then the man was gone, jumping over the crate and heading full tilt towards one of the shadowy figures.

"YOU!"

"Cap'n Jack Sparrow, at your services, bitches," the stranger said before he took off, down the hall and out of sight.

Amazingly, the other three figures took off right behind him, completely forgetting James and the other two investigators.

Peeking out, over his cover, James looked about. He spotted Flack's blue eyes and then Sheldon, peering out from behind their own cover.

"Did he just say his name was Captain Jack Sparrow?" Flack asked as he slowly rose up, his gun still pointed in the direction that the shooters had ran.

"I do believe so, why?" James asked, careful to keep to as much cover as he could.

"Because that's the name of the ghost that haunts the place where our Jane Doe was found," Flack answered. Using one hand to grip his gun, he used the other to keep Sheldon behind him. "And I don't know about the rest of you, but that didn't look like no ghost to me."

"Decidedly not," James agreed.

**0-0-0-0-0-0**

After a few hours of rest, a shower, and a change of clothes, both Stella and Mac were outside the door to 'Langley's Antiques'. Looking through the front windows, the place was packed with old, older, and impossibly old furniture.

A buzzing of the phone had Mac reaching for his cell phone. "Detective Taylor."

"Hey Mac," Danny's voice came over through the line.

"What's up Danny?"

"Seems that Doc's case is overlapping ours."

"What happened?" He asked, automatically on alert.

"They got lured to the warehouse and there was a shootout."

"Anyone hurt?"

"Not any of ours. But one of their witnesses was killed."

"Where's Hawkes?"

"Writing up his report. Flack's waiting for the all-clear before he and the others go off to interview the people at Black Pearl again. Also, it seems our Interpol guy wants US to process the scene."

"Good," Mac said. '_He's either on our side, or he sees the connection._' "You and Lindsay get your stuff and get to it."

"We're already on it."

"Good. I'll catch up with you when we get back there."

"Over and out."

Mac sighed as he hung up.

"What's wrong?"

"Hawks and Flack were in a shoot out in the warehouse."

"Hmmm," Stella said, standing up straighter. "Seems we'll have to layout all the information we have so far when we get back there."

"Maybe we might finally get a break in the case."

"Wow," Stella breathed as she leaned closer to the window. "People had some really, really ugly furniture once upon a time."

"That's putting it mildly," Mac said as he looked at one of the window display's ornaments. He took a deep breath and shook his head as he opened the door. "Ladies first."

Stella snorted softly as she preceded him into the surprisingly clean shop.

"Hmm," Stella said as she ran her fingers over a large trunk, testing for dust. "I would think it would be a bit…"

"A bit dirtier?" another female's voce chimed up, accent-less and warm.

From around one of the taller displays, Bella Langley herself emerged.

In person, Mac realized how much the driver's license really didn't do her justice. '_I bet she's Nordic. Maybe Swedish._' Her blond hair was set in a tangle of curls atop her head, cascading down beautifully. She stood tall and proud in a red and gold business suit that matched her red nails and red shoes. Her eyes were as pale blue as a summer sky in the Caribbean, and her skin was… flawless.

All in all, she looked like a work of art come to life.

"I make sure my shop is always clean, and that all the furniture within my store is in the best shape it can be, considering all the years and wear that they have endured," she continued. "My name is Bella, and I'm the owner. Can I help you find anything in particular or are you more of the browsing kind?"

"Actually, we're more of the official kind," Mac said as he pulled out his badge. "I'm Detective Mac Taylor, this is my associate Detective Stella Bonasara. We were hoping you could answer a few questions for us."

"Of course," She said as she gestured deeper into the shop. "Please, I just set out some tea. Would you care for a cup?"

"Thank you, but I'll pass," Mac said.

Stella just shook her head.

"As you like," she replied. She took them to the heart of her shop, which was set up like an old English style tea party. True to her word, she had already poured herself a cup of tea, loose-leaf green tea judging by the label on the tin. Mac and Stella both sat down at the table as Bella busied herself with her cup. "So, detectives, how may I assist you?"

"Have you ever rented a warehouse on the docks?" Stella asked, taking the bull by the horns.

"No," Bella answered, shaking her head and causing her curls to bounce and twist. "I cannot say that I have, or would want to."

"Your ID was used to do exactly that," Mac said. "And the owner of the warehouse says that it was you."

"But it was not me," she replied smoothly. "I have no need nor want for a warehouse on the docks or anywhere else. I keep all of my belongings with me. Here. Where I can keep an eye on them."

"I see," Mac said.

"Do you have any help working here?" Stella asked. "I mean, a place this size, to keep it this clean, you must have help."

"Sometimes. Most of the time it is just me," the blond woman smiled. "I like to clean. It gives me a feeling of… zen."

"Who helps you out when you do have assistance?"

"ANTIBELLUM?!" came a youthful cry from the front of the store.

"In here, Kimberly, with the detectives," Bella called back. Turning her attention back to the detectives. With a sigh, she informed them, "My help is a very loud, abrasive young niece."

Into the small space, a young ten year old bounced, her red hair pulled back into a ponytail and her smile as bright as day. She looked up at the detectives with big green eyes before moving immediately to hide behind her aunt.

"Hello, Kimberly," Mac said with a small smile.

The child said nothing in response. In fact, she only tried to hide more.

"Kimberly," Bella said lightly. "There are books in the back that need to be stacked alphabetically. Will you go do that for me?"

"Yes, ma'am," the girl nodded before dashing off.

"She's your niece?" Stella asked, watching the girl run off.

"Something like that," Bella replied.

"So, do you have a sister or a brother…"

"My sister's daughter," the other woman answered. "Kimberly was what you might call a miracle child. Her real mother died giving birth, but she survived. My sister married her father, and has been taking care of her ever since."

"Shouldn't she be in school?"

"She is home schooled," Bella replied, a harshness to her voice. "I teach her the soft studies, history and language, while my sister teachers her the harder ones, such as science and math."

"I bet with all the history around her here, it makes history lessons a bit more… real." Stella commented, trying to get the woman to relax again.

"It does make things more interesting."

"Does your sister look anything like you?" Mac asked. "And does she have a name?"

"My sister is currently Mrs. Mary Loving. As for if she looks like me, well, she used to," the blond said as she looked in the direction the girl had previously taken. "But right now she has red hair to match Kimberly's. She's styled it like that for… about as long as she's been with her husband, which is about seven years now."

"And Kimberly is…?"

"A beautiful, healthy eight years old."

"I see," Mac said, glancing over at Stella. "Well, thank you Miss Langley, for your time."

"Of course, detectives," she said, getting to her feet. "I hope I have been of some assistance."

The two detectives left the shop and began walking back to their car.

"Well… that was… interesting."

"Do you buy what she was saying?"

"I don't know what to make of her," Stella said. "But I'll tell you this much, that woman gives me the creeps."

**0-0-0-0-0-0**

After spending all morning going over the warehouse and finding no sign of either the three attackers or the mysterious Jack Sparrow, Flack, Sheldon and James found themselves standing outside of Black Pearl Enterprises. There was now an extra body back at the morgue, and Sheldon was no longer allowed to process scenes since he was actually part of it.

"You know, this case is really beginning to freak me out," Flack said.

"Don't like ghost stories, detective?" James asked as he looked up at the shiny building.

"Don't like the unknown is more like it," Sheldon replied as he started up the flat stairs. He tried to shake off the anxiety and nerves that he had been feeling all morning since the shoot-out. As a doctor, he hated guns on principle. However, as an officer of the law, he knew that it was all part and parcel of bringing down the perpetrators and criminals. '_Doesn't make the adrenaline high, or the adrenaline crash, any easier to deal with._' "Which is something that we both share."

Donnie and James followed behind him. James looked over at the other detective and said, "Well, if nothing else, it is daylight now."

"Yes it is," Sheldon replied as he reached the door. He did his best to try and not dwell on the fact that the high he had been feeling most of the morning had less to do with the near-death experience than it had to do with being thrown to the ground by Flack. '_Out of all the excitement, that's what I have to fixate on?_ _He is way too young and way too straight for me to get infatuated with. I need to get a handle on things and just… get over it._' "But that means very little to the dead."

Mr. Woon was still at his desk and smiled as the three officers entered. "Ahh, detectives. How are you this dreary morning?"

"We're doing okay, Mr. Woon," Sheldon said as he approached the desk. "We here to talk to Mr. Thompson."

"Do you have an appointment?"

"Yep, right here," Flack said as he flashed his badge.

"I will let him know you are on your way," the old man said as the three of them piled into the first elevator that opened up for them.

The ever-so-elegant Roman Thompson was already opening the door for them when they arrived in front of his office. "Detective, Doctor, and…?

"Interpol," James said as he flashed his own credentials. "James Norrington."

"Norrington?" Thompson said sharply, his entire demeanor focusing on James. "James Norrington?"

"That's what I said," James said, eyeing the man.

"Hmmm, I wonder…" Thompson said as he turned and strode over to his bookshelves. "Where did you come by your name, Mr. Norrington?"

"Let's forget his name for a moment, okay, we've got questions of our own," Flack said, irritated.

"Yes, yes, of course," Mr. Thompson said absently, running his hands over his books.

Sheldon looked at the picture above the desk. "When was that painting done, Mr. Thompson?"

"Hmm?"

"The painting. Of Captain Sparrow."

"Oh, that," the old man said dismissively. "It was done at about 1730-ish. It was commissioned by Mrs. Elizabeth Turner, who was a woman pirate of some notoriety herself. Personally, I think she did it to irritate her husband, but that was never here nor there."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, positive," he said. "I've had it dated."

"Do you mind if we date it ourselves?" Sheldon asked.

"Mmmmn, if you insist," Mr. Thompson replied, as he pulled out one particular book and began skimming through it.

"So, Mr. Thompson, as our resident expert on this supposed ghost-" Flack began.

"Oh, I'm no expert, not by a stretch of the imagination," the older man laughed. "I've just read the stories."

"The stories?"

"The stories and legends of our dear Captain Jack," Mr. Thompson nodded. "Some were written by his friends, some where written by his enemies, and some… some were written by him."

"What can you tell us about him?"

Mr. Thompson looked up at the three gathered officers. "Well, I can tell you that as far as pirates go, he wasn't that good of one."

"Oh?" Norrington asked.

"Arrogant, yes. Crafty and sneaky and fast, all affirmative," Mr. Thompson informed them. "But when it came to out and out piracy… he was not so good. Great thief, bad pirate."

Sheldon looked at Flack and quirked an eyebrow. "So, if he wasn't a good pirate then how… why…"

"I'm sure someone on my staff has told you the legend of how our company came into being," Mr. Thompson said with a grin. "That much is true."

"Riiiiight," Flack drawled.

Snapping the book closed, Mr. Thompson looked at James.

"Did you know that you share the name of a famous British Naval officer who was once the scourge of all known Pirates?"

'I guess some things are hereditary,' Sheldon thought to himself as he looked at the foreign inspector.

"I was named after an ancestor who died at sea, and who happened to be in the navy, yes," James replied carefully.

"Died on the Flying Dutchman, saving Mrs. Elizabeth Turner, in fact," Mr. Thompson said as he handed James the book he had pulled out from his library.

Sheldon felt his entire body go cold at that statement, and he could see James stiffen as well. '_Okay… this is getting rather unnerving._'

"This is her diary," Mr. Thompson continued, as if he either didn't notice their reactions or didn't care. "You should read it. It might hold some of the answers about our Captain Jack that you're looking for."

**0-0-0-0-0-0**

"Hey Stella, what have we got?" Mac asked as he came into the well-lit lab.

Along the walls, there were numerous pictures of the warehouse, which was also represented by a 3-D model on the computer screen. Images of shell casings as well as the actual evidence were also decorating the walls.

"So far this is just the evidence from the warehouse," Stella said as she waited by the DNA machine. "Well, the abridged version, anyway."

"The abridged version," Mac repeated with one raised eyebrow.

"Sorry," she smiled as she looked over her shoulder. "It's just… there's this one piece of evidence that I'm very curious about."

"And what was that?"

"A fish scale I found in one of the deep gouges in the floor," she said as she stood up. She walked over to the pictures of said floorboards and pointed to them. "See here? I'm not sure what kind of instrument created these deep scratches, but they were covered in blood."

"You get any hits?"

"Lots of mixing and blending, but I got a few hits on some of our guys," Stella said with a shake of her head. "I tell ya, Mac, I don't think they walked out of their on their own."

"And no bodies were ever recovered."

"Man, when those feds said that no one survived… I didn't think it would be this ugly."

"Danny and Lindsay are still back at the scene, processing it from after the shoot-out this morning."

"Talk about cross-contamination," Stella sighed. "At least we know what the base-paint looked like before hand."

"At least none of our people were the fatalities this time," Mac said as he rubbed the back of his neck.

The DNA machine gave an almost gleeful beep as it began to print out the results of Stella's test.

Looking up at the crime scene photos, specifically the ones of the floor board, Mac frowned. He held his hand up to the deep indentations and noticed that the markings bore a striking resemblance to the width of someone's hand. '_But that would mean that someone was desperately trying to claw their way across the floorboard. The strength and pain tolerance for that… What were they fighting against that they were clawing at the floor to try and get away from?_'

The curly-haired woman moved over to get the print out with an almost wild gleam to her eyes. However, once she saw the results, bafflement took center stage. "Hey Mac…"

"Yeah?" He asked, looking away from the crime scene photos.

"What kind of fish is 99% human?"

"What?!" Mac asked.

She handed him the printout so that he could see for himself, and sure enough, the print out said that the DNA was contaminated, but that it was definitely human.

"I've heard of certain skin diseases that cause skin cells to turn into larger scales, and some that cause a person to appear like a werewolf, but those all registered as human," Stella thought aloud. "This one is only mostly human."

"Part fish, part human," Mac said grimly. "Seems we really are dealing with Sheldon's Mermaid case."

"You don't really think that this is a mermaid do you?" Stella asked incredulously.

"I believe what the evidence is telling me. And what t is saying to me right now is that we have yet to piece all of this puzzle together," Mac said cautiously. "There is a reason, a logical explanation, for everything. We just have to find it."

"Well, I for one can't wait to figure out this mystery," Stella said as she looked down at the printout again. "The deeper we go into it, the stranger it seems to get."

"Hawkes, Flack, and Norrington are out interviewing a few more people. They should be here later this afternoon. Lindsay and Danny should be here about that time as well. We'll all go over the files when we meet up again."

"Any word on Mrs. Langley's sister, Mrs. Loving?"

"I'm having a bit of trouble pulling up a driver's license," Mac admitted. "Seems she's as much of a mystery as our Mrs. Bella Langley."

"Well, I guess if you've got the cash, no one needs to see ID," Stella commented as she crossed her arms. "And if it wasn't for Jezebel, we wouldn't even have Mrs. Langley's ID to go on."

"I know, and for that I'm grateful."

"So, what will you do if you can't find an ID for this woman?"

"I'll find her husband, see if I can get to her through him," Mac said with a tilt to his head. "If nothing else, I might find out a bit more about our antiques dealer."

"Sounds like a fun time," Stella commented.

"Oh, you know, it's just the same old song and dance," Mac replied as he handed her back the printout.

**0-0-0-0-0-0**

It was the last stop of the day, and James couldn't be happier about it. They hadn't stopped since the docks earlier that morning with the exception of a short break to give their reports of the shoot-out, and a short moment where James could almost remember eating something vaguely resembling a hotdog.

Detective Flack knocked on the door, as he made sure to position Sheldon out of harms way if anything were to happen.

'_If it weren't for the near scare earlier today, I'd say the young detective is just taking every opportunity that he can to touch Sheldon_,' James thought to himself as he shifted where he stood. As far as apartment complexes when, James felt the ambiance of the current one to be more along the lines of a motel rather than a permanent living arrangement. '_Cheap pink carpet, tacky wallpaper… At least it has the distinction of not being on the ground floor. I think the noise pollution is about the only thing this rattrap is missing._'

"You sure this is the place?" Flack asked in a hushed voice.

"This is the address provided by the phone company," Sheldon replied.

Frowning, Flack knocked again.

"Who is it?" Came a feminine response.

"N.Y.P.D." Flack answered, pulling his badge in front of the peephole.

A few moments, and several locks later, a young Asian girl obviously dressed in her pajamas opened the door and ushered them in. Once inside, James took the opportunity to really look at the girl. She was slim, but with obvious enhancements where her cleavage was concerned. Her straight black hair had a few streaks of purple, but was otherwise cut into a stylish bob. She yelled out in any one of several possible languages to the other rooms, where a slow rustle could be heard.

"Are you Miss Miyako?" Flack asked.

"I'm Elizabeth Miyako," the young woman answered. "My slug-a-bed sister is Anna. Who are you?"

"I'm Detective Flack, my associates are Dr. Hawkes and Inspector Norrington."

James looked around the small living room and tried not to show his displeasure at the place. '_No amount of bleach would ever get this place cleaned. I just hope it never becomes a crime scene. Too much trash to sift through, and everything could be considered a piece of evidence._'

"You work at a sushi house named-" Flack said, trying to drive the questioning forward.

"Miss Isago's Sushi House," Elizabeth nodded as she began picking up the random articles of clothing, slowly revealing furniture underneath. "Yes, we work there."

"What can you tell us about the place?"

"Well, it's a nice enough place, really clean and stuff," Elizabeth said as she tossed the clothes through the open doorway to what James could only assume was a bedroom. Even before the clothes landed, she was yelling at her sister again, words James didn't even try to follow. Turning back to them she smiled politely and asked, "Why, something happen there?"

"What makes you ask that?"

"Well, usually when the cops show up, it means something has happened somewhere, and the fact that you're asking about the sushi house means that its involved."

Sheldon nodded his head as he moved out of the young girl's sudden cleaning spree. "Something has happened."

"Yeah?"

"A few nights ago, a young woman died," Sheldon said as he produced the picture of their Jane Doe once again. She stopped in her mad dash to straighten her apartment to take a look at the picture. "Now, the hostess said she didn't remember her, but maybe-"

"Ach," Elizabeth scoffed. "I don't know why she would say something like that. This looks like her cousin, Claire."

"Cousin? As in, Sherri's mother or father's sister?" James asked, the image of the young woman in question flashing again inside his mind, that perfectly round, bloody hole dominating his memory.

"Well, not by blood, but then, she isn't Miss Mia's daughter by blood, ether," Elizabeth said. She gestured to the sofa and chairs, and James reluctantly took a seat. "I think it was Miss Mia's sister though. I mean, Sherri's aunt looked just like Miss Mia."

"Do you know the aunt's name?"

"Mmm," Elizabeth said, looking upward. After a moment, she shook her head. "Sorry. No idea."

"That's alright. What can you tell us about this family?" James asked.

"Miss Mia is the owner, and she has a couple of sisters, each with at least one daughter," Elizabeth shook her head. "I don't think any of them are related by blood except for Miss Mia and her sisters. Like, I don't think any of Sherri's cousins have any ties to the family by blood."

"But they're all cousins and sisters?"

"Well, yeah," Elizabeth nodded. "I mean, there's adoption and stuff. And marriage. I'm not really sure how it all worked out, but they're all related. Somehow."

"Tell me… what do you know of Sherri?" James asked, hopeful that at least some of the girl's earlier venom might be explained.

"I can tell you that she never once went to public school," Elizabeth shrugged. "She's spent most of her life here, in the city, but she isn't originally from here. When she isn't helping her mom out at the restaurant, she's studying."

"Did she have a boyfriend?"

"Her?" Elizabeth snorted, her face twisting to show her utter confusion and disbelief. "You're kidding me, right?"

"No, I'm not."

"She is the biggest lesbian I have ever met!"

"Was," James said.

"Huh?"

"Was," he repeated. "She's dead now."

"What?" Elizabeth asked, her animated face turning slack. "You're kidding me, right?"

"No, she was killed this morning," James replied quietly.

"Oh, wow…" Elizabeth breathed as she looked blindly about the room. "Her mother is going to be so upset. I mean… wow…"

"Is there anything else about Sherri, her mother, or her cousin that you can tell us?" Sheldon asked.

"Nothing much, I mean… Sherri was only a kid, you know. Confused, yeah, single-minded in the worst way, but… she loved her family, you know. She would have done anything for them."

"Would she have killed for them?" James asked.

"Yeah," Elizabeth answered automatically.

"You said that pretty fast," Flack commented.

"Sherri had a bit of a temper," Elizabeth shrugged. "Like, if one of the guests said something really nasty about her, she wouldn't care. But if they said something about Miss Mia or about someone else in her family? Forget about it. She almost broke one guy's hand one time, kicking him out of the place for making a threat to her mom."

"What kind of threat?"

"Oh, you know, the usual you get from idiots at restaurants. 'I'm going to sue' and 'this was horrible' and other such nonsense."

"So, since he was making a scene, she kicked him out?" Flack asked.

"I haven't seen anyone bounced out of a bar that fast, ever, much less a restaurant."

James raised an eyebrow at that.

"She was good people, though." Elizabeth said. "It's a shame. The world has too few of them."

"Well, if you can think of anything else that might be of assistance," James said, handing out a card.

"Sure, sure," she said. She shook her head as she led them to the door. "Man… I guess I better call in and see if we're even going to open tonight."

"Something tells me that your boss might not want to be opening her doors any time soon," James said looking at the other two investigators.

**0-0-0-0-0-0**

The lab they were using was one of their larger ones, which Stella was grateful for.

The evidence for the first warehouse case alone took up most of the space in the lab, with the most important pictures spread out across the clear boards as to allow for scribbles and other notes. Added to the fray were the computer screens that they needed to show the 3-D models, the DNA test results, and the files they were still trying to pull from the FBI.

Then there was all the evidence that had been gathered by Sheldon and the others regarding the poisoning case. For the most part, that evidence wasn't even up and visible to the rest of them yet, which was just as well. Stella had yet to put up the pictures of the suspects involved in the warehouse case.

Finally, there were the six of them gathered about the room.

Lindsay and Danny were sitting on stools next to each other. Flack was propped up against the door, just in case he had to step out for a phone call or something related to another case. Sheldon was sitting between Flack and Norrington, a position he had pointedly taken earlier. Norrington was sitting on another stool to the far side of the table, closest to Mac. And then there was her, up and moving about, trying to tie invisible threads to the evidence.

"So, we know at the very least, the warehouse ties the two cases together," Mac said as he began the meeting. "And that Interpol has an interest in both of the cases, each one for different reasons."

"Which may be coincidence," Danny said. "But if it is, it is one HELL of a coincidence."

"But let's start from the top, shall we?" Mac said.

"The first case is the warehouse one," James said. "Human trafficking. People brought across the sea and land to be… whatever their buyers want them to be once they get here."

"Which could tie in with our case," Flack chimed in. "Seeing as how the Sushi place's owner's daughter isn't hers legitimately, and there are no birth records or adoption records, and we have a witness that states that there's no blood relation there."

"And our witness says she doesn't know how they were related, just that the our second victim, Sherri Sake, wasn't blood related to our first victim, Claire, her supposed cousin."

"Running a DNA test," Lindsay said, taking the lead, "they weren't blood related."

"But that doesn't mean they weren't family," Stella nodded. "Adoptions happen all the time, and sometimes they happen under the table."

"Bella said that she had a sister, but she only mentioned the one. Mary Loving," Mac said. "But I wouldn't be surprised if she had more than one."

"Oh?"

"If it weren't for her niece showing up, I doubt we would have discovered she had any family." Mac replied dryly.

"Well, if there are three sisters," Sheldon said slowly. "And there were three female attackers that tried to kill us this morning…"

"Another coincidence?" Danny asked skeptically. "Because, I gotta say, if there are any more coincidences in this case, I'm going to go out and play the lotto."

Biting the inside of her cheeks, the curly-haired detective pulled up the only known photos of both Mia Sake and Bella Langley. There was still no information on Mary Loving, other than a marriage license.

But once the two known females' images were up, she let out a small gasp and took a step back. "You might want to go get that lotto ticket, Danny."

There, before them, the two women smiled for an unseen camera. Or, rather, the one woman smiled for an unseen camera with two different poses.

"Twins?" James asked, stunned. "I thought you said Bella Langley was fine when you interviewed her."

"She was fine," Stella said. "It couldn't have been her in the warehouse."

"We can't confirm anything until we have either birth certificates, DNA, or at least fingerprints," Mac warned them all.

"A warehouse on the docks would make a bit more sense for a restaurant owner," Sheldon said as he rounded the table to look at the pictures more closely. "A transition place for food stuffs and other supplies."

"But renting it in her sisters name?" Stella asked. "And why the human trafficking?"

"Unless it really is some weird adoption ring thing," Danny said as he scratched at his jaw. "I mean, you guys said that none of the daughters were actually related."

"So why kill your niece on someone else's property?" James asked.

"Why have your daughter thrown into a situation where she could be killed?" Lindsay countered.

"There's no proof that it was Mia in there," the British born investigator said quickly, dismissively.

"Right now we have no proof that any of these girls were actually related," Mac said cautiously. "Only the word of one or two witnesses, but they were outside the family structure. Mrs. Sake can just as easily deny any relation."

"Yeah, but she can't deny that she's related to Mrs. Langley," Flack said, nodding towards the screen.

"No, and that is one thing we have going in our favor," Mac said. "Seems to me that we have a lot of evidence, but not a lot of answers."

"What should we do?" Lindsay asked, though Stella could practically see the younger woman mentally kick herself for asking it.

'_We always ask the same questions, and we always get the same answer_,' Stella thought to herself. '_It all goes back to the evidence we've gathered._'

"So, we're going back to the evidence and try to figure how it fits together?" Danny said, not even attempting to wait for Mac to answer the obvious question.

"What about starting to ask different questions?" James asked quietly, almost to himself, as the others began to get up from the lab table.

"What kind of questions?" Mac asked him in return.

"I'm not sure," James shook his head sadly as he continued to stare at the pictures of the two dead girls. Then, with large, green eyes, he turned to look at the other man and tried to force a grin. "But when I figure it out, you'll be the first to know."

**0-0-0-0-0-0**

James dragged out his keycard from his back pocket as he looked down the corridor of his hotel. There were a few wayward stragglers making their way down the hallway, but otherwise there was nothing overly suspicious going on around him. Tugging on the handle, James pushed his way into the dark room.

Tossing the book that Mr. Thompson had given him onto the nearby bed; James began to shrug out of his jacket. Just like the night before, he was tired. All he wanted to do was to sleep for the next ten hours and then go home. '_But not until they're caught. Not until the mystery is solved and those mermaids are brought to justice._' The jacket went to edge of the bed, right next to the book.

Next went the shoes, the tie, the gun in its holster, and the dress shirt.

Down to his slacks and socks, James reached over and picked up the book and ran his hand over the binding and cover.

"I thought I recognized you," came a familiar voice, like brandy after a steak dinner.

James spun around, simultaneously cursing the fact that he hadn't searched for intruders even as he cursed the fact that he had already discarded his gun.

The petite man standing in the shadows between his wardrobe and the window leaned forward, allowing some of the ambient light to highlight his strong cheekbones. But it was the man's facial hair and beads that gave him away.

"Who are you?" James asked, trying to inch towards his gun.

"Surely you've heard of me," the stranger replied.

"You're supposed to be Captain Jack Sparrow?" James eyed the man. "Something of a lack-luster pirate from the 1700's?"

"Lack-luster pirate," the man scoffed. "I'm one of the greatest pirates there ever was."

"History has forgotten you," James informed him.

"But you have heard of me," Jack said as he stepped further into the room and away from the window. "And really, that's all that matters right now."

James snorted as he shifted, his mind still focused on getting his gun. "How did you get out from the warehouse? There are no trap doors, no secret passages."

"Didn't need them," Jack said, using his hand to gesticulate through the air even as the other found his hip. "I just used the only true way to escape."

"Which was?"

"The sea," Jack said as he eyed the taller man. With a long-suffering sigh, he moved his free hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Oh, for crying out loud, go ahead and get your gun. You can even shoot me if that will make you feel any better."

James eagerly retrieved his gun, his eyes on Jack the entire time. When the other man didn't bring forward a weapon of his own, James thought it best to keep the safety of his weapon on, rather than shoot it off accidentally. "Why are you here."

Jack dropped his hand away from his face and waved it through the air again as he asked in return, "What kind of answer do you want to that?"

"The truth."

"No you don't." Jack corrected him. "You want to hear something that will make sense to you, but what you don't understand is that this world isn't about making sense. It has never been about making sense. But then, you would know that if you started opening your ears and seeing the world as it really is."

"What are you rambling about?"

"I came to apologize," Jack said instead. He walked moved to the dresser, his hips swinging with an almost drunken abandon as he moved the short distance.

For a moment, James was almost afraid that the other man was about to leave, though the Interpol Agent knew that he should, under all sane reasoning, be doing his best to arrest the man on suspicion of murder. He never got that far, though.

Spinning around to lean against the large piece of furniture, Jack crossed his arms and continued. "I finally remembered who you were."

James stiffened as he looked the other man over. 'I never gave him my name.' "I'm Inspector James Norrington-"

"And I remember you as Commodore James Norrington, formerly of the British Royal Navy," Jack said with a sad smirk. "Also formerly of my crew, but that came later, after you got lost in a storm and before you betrayed everything you ever loved for an ideal that no one else could uphold. Not when money was involved, and really, when ISN'T money involved? But, you know, that's a different story."

"That James Norrington was an ancestor at best," James replied. '_My nightmares must be getting really bad if I'm having them before I've even fallen asleep._'

"The world is round, savvy?"

"Yes, it is," James said slowly. '_Is he daft?_' "I'm glad you realize this."

"I only make a point of saying it because our lives, no matter how short or how long, always manage to come around full circle," Jack said. "No matter if you're human or not, mortal or not, you follow certain patterns. Cycles. Circles."

James tilted his head to the side in confusion.

"Go ahead and read what Elizabeth wrote about me," Jack finished with a smirk. "Just remember, she grew into a bitter old woman, trapped in a cage of her own making. But then again, aren't we all. Mortal or otherwise."

And then, with a dramatic flourish that James was just too tired to try and prevent, the swaggering man departed.

James managed to get to the door before it closed again, but a long glance down both directions of the hallway showed that his late-night visitor was long gone. Frowning, he went back into his room and made sure to lock the door behind him. '_I must be more tired than I thought. I could have sworn… but that didn't make enough sense to be real._'

The green-eyed detective sighed as he shook his head, placing his gun back in its holster on his bed. He went to the bathroom to brush his teeth, as was part of his nightly ritual.

And he did his best to ignore the lingering scent of rum in the air.


	4. Daylight Fantasies

_Title__: Lost Souls  
Chapter__: 4 – Daylight Fantasies  
Author__: ctrl_issue  
Fandom(s)__: CSI:NY/Mermaid Saga/PotC  
Rating__: M for Mature (for cursing, for violence, and sexual activities)  
Pairings__: Flack/Sheldon, Sparrow/Norrington, Messer/"Montana"  
Disclaimer__: If you know it, I don't own it. And chances are, even if you DON'T know it, I don't own it.  
Summary__: Sometimes there are Lost Souls that wander this world, and no amount of science will ever be able to explain the how or the why.  
Author's Notes__: This is my NaNo project. I should warn for Slash, OOC-ness, and WTF-ery all around. It's just that the premise of this amuses me. At any rate, please keep in mind that NONE of these are "my" fandoms. I've never written in any of them before. Hell, I've barely read anything for CSI:NY. I figure that's okay for NaNo. If I feel like it afterwards, I'll go back and edit things so that it's more… palatable. *snerk* Or not. It really just depends. Kudos to me for writing something citrus-like, though. It's really been forever and a day since I have.  
Word Count So Far__: 30.460 for the first three chapters, plus 11.377 for this one._

**Lost Souls**

Flack exhaled sharply as the world around him came into stark focus. He leaned up to look over at his alarm clock. '_Four in the damn morning. I still have a few hours of sleep available to me. IF I can get back to them._'

His body was covered in sweat, and the sheets were tangled around his long legs. He was just in a pair of black boxer briefs, so he wasn't sure why he was sweating so badly. He wasn't even sure what had woken him up. He laid back down, onto his stomach, and that's when he remembered.

He remembered his dream.

His dream of being in the warehouse again. Only this time there were no bullets flying. There was no near death experience. There was no imminent and present danger.

There was just him, pressing the good doctor down to the ground. He could still feel the way Sheldon's body had felt under him, though.

And now that he was awake enough to actually think about it, and too tired to stop himself from thinking about it, Flack began to fantasize what it would have felt like to have been like that under different circumstances.

He began to think about what it would have felt like to have those arms wrapped around him. What it would feel like to have those legs wrapped around his waist. What it would feel like to have those hands in his hair and touching him…

He knew that Sheldon worked out, at least a little bit. He ran to clear his head after a double shift, and that he could hold his own in a hand-to-hand fight with multiple attackers. He also knew that the man used to be a surgeon, and therefore had some damn clever hands.

He remembered the flash of skin and clavicle from the other morning, when the good doctor had been called away from his date. In his mind, Donnie took that memory and expanded on it, thought about what the rest of the man had to look like under his clothes. With the number of tight shirts and sweaters that Sheldon had worn, Donnie thought he had a pretty good image.

'_I bet he's good with his hands, too…_' Donnie groaned as he rolled over to his back. '_I aint gonna get any sleep unless I get some relief._'

He pushed his underwear down his hips to give himself some freedom. Then he leaned up once again, and reached for the bedside table. Grabbing a condom and the tube of lube he kept there, for nights when he was unable to land the proper date but still had more than his fair share of drive, the blue-eyed detective had to laugh at himself.

And if that laugh was filled with a bit more self-depreciation and self-mockery than actual humor, there was no one there to comment on it. '_Not the first time I've done this to thoughts of guys. Hell, I even know what it's like to do this with guys. But this is a new one for me. I don't usually go for coworkers. Just not a good way to keep a low profile or my sanity._'

Once he began stroking himself, the young detective leaned back into the pillows and just let his mind run away with him.

He imagined those clever hands on him, moving over his shoulders and chest before at least one of them moved to the back of his head. He imagined the sounds that Sheldon would make: soft, surprised gasps of pleasure and need. He imagined that it was Sheldon jerking him off, those hands and fingers that were meant to do a lot more than gather evidence were wrapped so perfectly around his erection that it was all Donnie could do not to completely lose his mind.

At that moment, he WANTED hard than he had ever had before. He wanted. He wanted this. He wanted this fantasy.

He wanted this fantasy to be reality.

And it frightened him.

Frightened him how much he wanted to throw the other man onto a bed, or even the floor again, and strip him down and just touch him. Frightened him how much he wanted to feel the other man touching him. Frightened him how much he wanted to be able to really hear what Sheldon sounded like when he was having sex.

Frightened and excited and damn near breaking, Donnie tried to shut off the fantasy. But once started, the picture show wasn't going to end until the ride ended, and the detective knew that he was well past the point of no return with this particular trip.

He didn't want to think about when he had crossed that particular point, either, but a nagging, righteous voice in the back of his head thought that it might just have been with the first acceptance of this particular fantasy.

Donnie let his body take what it wanted quickly. He couldn't remember a time that it was so easy to get off, or ever left him so hungry for more. Fortunately, though, that was more of an inner-lust hunger than physical-lust hunger. Since he had used a condom, clean up was easy. Still messy, but easy.

As he laid back down, trying to untangle the blankets and sheet as he did so, he tried not to think too deeply about what he had just done. '_It was a fantasy. No one has to know about it but me._'

Yet, as he drifted closer and closer to sleep, the young man had to admit to himself one simple truth. '_And even if anyone ever did find out, Doc wouldn't try to ruin my life afterwards._'

**0-0-0-0-0-0**

Mac glanced at the clock just before he turned off the ignition. From what he remembered of the Antique store's hours, it was just before opening time. They still had time to walk the lonely block to the building.

'_I wonder why she didn't pick up her phone yesterday? I guess we'll be finding that out as well as finding out what she knows about Mrs. Mia Sake, our two dead girls, the warehouse, our dead cops, and the poison. Maybe then we'll finally get some answers_.'

Stella ended her call with a smug smile and undid her seatbelt. "Well, it's about time…"

"What?"

"We've finally got a lead on a Mrs. Loving," Stella said happily.

"Oh?" Mac asked as he and his companion climbed out of the car.

"Seems she's a 'stay-at-home' mom, with no licenses or certificates or even a high school diploma."

"How'd we find her then?" Mac asked, curious as he locked the car.

"Marriage certificate, and Lindsay going through the classifieds for seven years ago trying to find a wedding announcement for the happy event."

Mac raised an eyebrow at that. "Smart move."

"Smart, but tedious," Stella commented as the two started off towards the shop. "There is no central database for that kind of information, so she had to search just about all of the local papers distribution for that year."

"Danny help her with that?"

"No, he and Sheldon were running the last of the DNA tests for the warehouse," Stella said. "We have all of our people's blood in that warehouse, as well as several unidentified people. Men and women. Some are related to each other."

"What were Flack and Norrington doing?" Mac asked curiously. He had already seen the hostility Flack demonstrated towards the Brit, but he wasn't really sure about the cause. All that Mac was sure of was that it was completely out of place. He would have words with the younger blue-eyed man if he saw it again, but in the mean time, Sheldon was keeping the two taller detectives separated. '_If Sheldon was busy, that means there was just a little too much time on Flack's hands, and if he was getting onto Norrington… that could cost us some of our leverage with the rest of the case._'

"Flack is running up leads on who might have crafted the skeleton keycard, since the interview with the security firm was such a bust."

"And Norrington?"

"Lindsay said he called in and said that he would be in later today."

"Hmm, wonder what he's up to today," Mac answered. "But we've got our lead"

"Indeed we do," Stella nodded, though her smile was quickly disappearing.

Mac turned to look at the antique shop's storefront, prepared to view another travesty of old world style charm and uncomfortable furniture.

Instead, the storefront was completely bare. Not a single piece of furniture remained in the window.

The two detectives shared a cautious look before Mac stepped forward and tried the door handle. He was even more surprised by the fact that the door swung easily open. From the barren interior, the strong sent of bleach emerged. He glanced over at Stella once more, even as they both pulled their guns free from their holsters. With the door wide open, Mac made his way slowly, and with utmost care, into the cavernous room.

A quick survey showed that no one was home.

Coming out of the back room, Stella shook her head. "Not a trace. Not of her or of any of the furniture."

"You know, I wasn't sure if I had any right to be suspicious of her until now." Mac said as he put his gun away. "I knew she was guilty of something, she set off too many alarms, but…"

"I'd like to know how she moved every trace of the shop out of here."

"One way to find out," Mac said as he looked about the room one more time. "We'll ask her sister."

"If that lead pans out," Stella commented pessimistically. "And if they are still related."

"What do you mean?" Mac asked.

"We have no proof that they're related in the first place," Stella answered. "I mean, for all we know, Mia and Bella are actually twins separated at birth who know nothing about each other. It wouldn't be the first time that something like that has happened. It happened in a case in Las Vegas not too long ago, in fact."

"So, you're wondering if there really are some strange coincidences going on in this case," Mac stated rather than asked. "It's possible."

"But?"

"But you know me, Stella. I just can't buy that there are that many coincidences between two cases. Not when the evidence is leaning in a different direction."

Stella frowned as she started back towards the door. "That's one of the problems I'm starting to see, Mac. The evidence is telling us everything that isn't going on, but it isn't telling us what is."

"Well, when we talk with Mrs. Loving later today, maybe she might be able to offer us a bit more insight, and a lot more information, to both of these cases," Mac sighed. He was just as tired of the runaround and mystery as Stella was. "I'll tell you the truth, though. I can't wait until something in this case starts making sense."

Stella nodded as she asked. "Do you think that we should process this scene?"

"What we can of it," Mac said. "But something tells me that whoever removed that shop was thorough. It wasn't just the styles of yesteryear that they were trying to make a memory."

**0-0-0-0-0-0**

Weaving through a throng of fellow tourists along the docks, James searched for a specific area, a place where he knew he was supposed to go.

'_I have got to be completely daft,_' James thought to himself as he fiddled with the note card he had discovered. It had been placed between the pages of the diary, specifically at the first reference to his namesake. He knew that Mr. Thompson must have been the one to have put the card there, and that it probably had to do with the mysterious Captain Jack Sparrow, but for reasons that escaped him when he really tried to think about them, the British born investigator did not want to call in his American companions.

Which was why he was doing his best to not think about what he was doing.

Unfortunately for his peace of mind, his best wasn't good enough.

He continued to think about how ridiculous he was being and about how suicidal his actions could be considered. Especially given that he had already been shot at.

'_But I need… I need to know what's going on with me. I need to understand these dreams._' James frowned at himself. '_I've had a year to try to piece together what the captain of the Flying Dutchman was trying to tell me, but each time I think about it, t just gives me a headache. The fact that I keep dreaming about it doesn't help either. And then, last night, to dream that the man claiming to be Jack Sparrow went to my room to –apologize- to me for… not recognizing me… so bizarre. Too bizarre, in fact._'

Ever mindful of his surroundings, James continued to watch the people around him. '_What kind of answers should I expect, though. Bloody hell, I don't even know what my questions are anymore. Not with this card, not with my dreams, not even with the cases I'm working on. And isn't it just my luck… most people who get a second chance say that they come back for a reason and they go head-first for it. Me? I wasn't given any kind of blinding revelation or life-affirming mission. I was given the task to hunt down the Mermaids. What kind of second chance is that?_' Ever since he had died at sea, he had felt an odd tug-of-war within him. Part of him wanted to be back there, out on the ocean. The other half of him, though, wanted to do whatever he had to in order to remain on dry land in the hopes of never experiencing that… that ever again.

James managed to get past the crowds and then down to the proper pier. He was looking for a specific slip, but when he arrived… it was not what he was expecting. '_Not really sure what to make of this… but at least there's something here._'

That -something- just happened to be one of the loveliest pleasure yachts that James had ever seen, and as someone who was formally an undercover agent among pirates, he had seen his fair share of boats. Just from where he was standing, James could tell that it was not overly large, but that it could fit the average family and then some. He leaned over to look at the name of the ship, and wasn't sure if he was supposed to be amused or just utterly confused by the perfectly scripted words '_The Valiant Chase'_.

"Come on board at your leisure, Mr. Norrington," came that familiar, lyrical voice from the night before.

Spinning around, James felt his heart first jump into his throat and then plummet down to his shoes. Standing before him was the man from yesterday. The same image as the man who had visited him last night.

"My God," James whispered as he took a step back. '_It wasn't a dream. He really did sneak into my hotel room last night. What did he think to accomplish? What did he hope to prove? And here I was thinking I was the one going mad_!' "Mr. Jack Sparrow?"

"CAPTAIN Jack Sparrow," the smaller man corrected as he moved around the other man. "People are always forgetting that. I'm CAPTAIN Jack Sparrow."

James quirked an eyebrow. 'Well, I've made it this far. And if he had wanted to hurt me, I do believe he would have when he visited me last night.' Taking a deep breath, the taller man set out onto the ramp that led up to the boat's deck. "I have some questions for you, Mr. Sparrow."

"I'm sure you do," Jack said with a mischievous grin. "But you'll probably not like any of my answers."

"Do not play games with me," James said, his frown darkening.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Jack said, his dark eyes holding an odd glint to them. "But you still probably won't like my answers, as truthful as they may be. Like I told you once before, you want your world to make sense, for every little piece of your puzzles to fit each other."

"That's the way things work," James replied. "That's the way of the world."

With a smirk, Jack opened the cabin door and ducked inside. "Welcome to my world, Jamie. Welcome… to my madness."

**0-0-0-0-0-0**

Mac and Stella walked up the stairs to the average looking Brownstone. Set in one of the trendier parts of town where crime was low, it was easy to believe that the woman they were seeking was married to money. The front door was made of wood, with a medium sized window set into the upper center of it, a glossy, ornate window shade covering it.

"You know," Stella said quietly, before they reached the door. "After this case is over, I'm thinking about going to Reno for the weekend."

"Oh?"

"The coincidences in this case are really beginning to get to me," she replied. "I mean, three sisters, two of whom look EXACTLY alike. All three married into money. Two of whom got businesses out of the deal, while the third lives a life of the happy-homemaker…"

"Considering how beautiful the two known sisters were, I can easily believe that they married rich. Money likes to have beautiful things," Mac said as he paused at the door. "If Mrs. Loving is anything like her sisters, then I will have no trouble believing that she married up."

"You think that's all it is? Rich old men wanting to have beautiful young wives?"

"Isn't that always the way it is? But, we'll see how happy she is," Mac replied as he rang the doorbell. "For all we know, it could not be all wedding bliss and roses."

A moment later, a voice called out through the door, "Who is it?"

"Detective Mac Taylor," Mac said holding up his badge to the door's small window. "Crime Lab."

The door to the home opened, and Mac had to catch his breath.

Where Bella and Mia were works of art, the woman before him was simply stunning. She wore a simple green and blue dress that made her eyes stand out even more dramatically than they normally would have. All three sisters shared the same facial features, from the cheekbones to the perfect lips. But the other two either did not realize what kind effect red-hair would have on their appearance, or didn't care. '_I'm honestly surprised none of them have ever become models. They're just so… perfect. They're shared beauty is actually rather disturbing._'

Mac felt his cheeks heat up as her gaze landed on him, and for the first time since he had met his late wife, he felt like he was just some fresh, green kid from Chicago. His palms were already sweating even before she smiled at him, but once she did, the former marine felt his head get a bit light on his shoulders.

"May I help you?" She asked, her voice low and smooth.

"Are you Mary Loving?" Stella asked, dragging the woman's piercing blue eyes away from Mac's and effectively giving Mac the opportunity to regain some of his wits.

"Yes, I am."

'_Not everyday that I get gob-smacked like that_,' he chided himself as he took several deep breaths. As he did so, he was hit by the smell of apple and cinnamon coming from the interior of the house, so strong that he knew that she had either been baking all morning or that she had used a great deal of scented spray in the house.

"We're here to talk with you about your sister, Mia Sake," Stella continued, taking over the interrogation. Mac caught the deliberate use of the other woman's name, but said nothing.

"I do not have a sister by that name." She replied. As if she expected that was the only question they were going to ask, she began to close the door.

"You mean, you aren't related to this person?" Stella asked, holding up a picture of one of the women.

"That is correct," the redheaded woman replied.

"Do you have a daughter named Kimberly?"

"No," Mrs. Loving replied sadly. "I have no children."

"Do you have any siblings?"

"No, I am an only child, as is my husband. May I ask what this is about?"

"Mrs. Loving, you should be aware that there is a woman out there who claims to be your sister."

"Really?" She asked, her hand going up to cover her throat. "Has she done something?"

"We're not sure," Mac said, finally finding his voice. "But we were hoping that you might know more about her. She had a young girl at her shop whom she claimed was your daughter, Kimberly."

"As I said, I don't have a child," Mary said as she shook her head. "What do you think she might have done? I mean, other than say that I'm her sister."

"She is wanted for murder and attempted murder of a police officer," Mac said. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a business card from the inside pocket. Handing it to the woman, he said, "You should consider her armed and dangerous. And if you DO see her, you should report the sighting to us immediately."

"Of course," she nodded. With that, she stepped back into her home and closed the door.

The two detectives stood there for a moment before they looked at each other. On mutual, unstated agreement, they both turned to walk back down the stairs.

"You okay?" Stella asked quietly.

"It's been a while since… wow," Mac said unabashedly.

"She was gorgeous," Stella agreed. Then with an amused smirk, she added, "And it is refreshing to know that you aren't immune to human foibles like that."

"Oh?"

"That was the best 'deer-in-headlights' look I've ever seen you give," Stella chuckled.

"Careful, Stella," Mac warned her, his cheeks darkening again. "You're stepping into dangerous territory."

"Oh, I know," the curly-haired detective continued to grin. "But it's so much fun dancing among these mines."

"Yeah, yeah," he retorted. "It's all fun and games until one of them goes off."

Stella continued to snicker. "So, what was it, Mac? Her hair? Her eyes? The way she smelled?"

Mac glared over at her. "Stella…"

"What?" She asked innocently. "Inquiring minds want to know!"

"What did I just say about mines going off?" He tried to growl. "As much as I usually approve of your dedication to solving mysteries, in this case…"

"In this case, you're too embarrassed to give me any answers," she smiled. "Don't worry, Mac. If we have to interview her again, you can hide behind me. I won't let her take you."

Mac snorted at that, but felt oddly comforted by the knowledge. He wasn't sure why, and frankly, he didn't want to dwell on it either.

**0-0-0-0-0-0**

Sheldon sat down in the break room with his take-out. Glancing around, he noticed that, once again, he was taking his lunch while others preferred to work through theirs. '_So unhealthy. We need breaks, we need food, and we need time to let our bodies relax… but then, I'm as guilty of it as they are, so I guess I shouldn't be throwing stones._' He broke his chopsticks apart absently and cleaned them off quickly. He opened the lid to his beef and broccoli dish and began to eat.

The television was on a random channel, but Sheldon paid it very little attention. Instead, he thought about a dozen other things going on. He thought about the cases. He thought about Norrington. He thought about Captain Jack Sparrow.

And he thought about Flack, and his own continued interest.

He knew it wasn't wise. He knew it wasn't healthy.

But.

But just like all the times when he worked through lunch, and all the times he pushed himself past where he needed to be, and all the times he did things that he knew he shouldn't do, he did it anyway.

Thought about what it might be like to actually let himself be interested in the other man. Thought about what it would be like to BE interested in the detective. Thought about what it would be like for the detective to be interested in him.

As far as fantasies when, Sheldon kept his mild. He didn't want to think of what the sex would be like, because he had already thought of that. He had already came to the conclusion that Donnie, and he would call him Donnie if they got involved, would prefer to be on top, and would prefer to be the one in charge. He was young and headstrong, but he could listen. He would be a generous lover, but intense, just as he was in his day-to-day dealings with other people.

"Yo, Doc," Danny called out, interrupting Sheldon's daydream.

Glancing over his shoulder with a wry smile, the dark-skinned medic greeted his companion. "Hey, Danny. What's up?"

"I think I got something," he quipped as he headed directly for the fridge.

"Oh? I hope it's treatable and not contagious," Sheldon retorted. "I hear they're making advancements in the medical field everyday."

"Hah. Hah," Danny shot back as he set his food into the microwave. "That's not what I meant, and you know it."

Sheldon chuckled as held a piece of beef in his chopsticks. "I dunno man, with you… anything is possible."

"Yeah, well, okay, that much is true," Danny teased. "But I'm talking about all these coincidences."

"Oh?" The doctor asked as he continued to eat.

"Yeah, with all the coincidences, I started to ask myself how it could have happened that all these bizarre things were happening and no one was noticing, right?"

"Yeah."

"So, last night when Lindsay was doing a search through the old wedding announcment archives, I started trying to figure out other angles to work from. And I think I've got something."

"What's that?"

"Well, where did all of these girls find their husbands?"

"Huh?" Sheldon asked around a mouthful of food.

"They had to meet these rich guys somewhere, right? Well, I'm trying to see if I can find any wedding announcements in the classifieds of the paper for Bella Langley, see if I can find anyone who knew her or her late husband, see if they can tell me where they met. Maybe, if I'm lucky, they might also remember if Bella had any siblings attending the wedding or what was going on back then."

Sheldon nodded his head as he swallowed. "Those could provide some great leads."

"It's something, ya know," Danny grinned tiredly. The microwave went off, and the younger man waited for a moment for his meal to be cool enough to retrieve. "I swear, if it weren't for occasionally running into some of the cold-case guys… It's just… nothing about this case is adding up. We have some connections, but they don't make any sense."

"I know," the dark-skinned male agreed. "When I first got on this case, I knew it was going to be tricky, but… I didn't think it would evolve into anything like this."

"When I found out Interpol had actually managed to pull some strings, I knew things were going to get interesting. But… man… I knew something big was going to be going down. Firs the FBI, then the deaths of all our guys-"

"Did we ever manage to find any of the bodies?"

"We haven't even found bones," Danny said with a shake of his head. He opened the microwave door and carefully pulled out his lunch. "They've started to search down river, but… I honestly don't know what to tell them. I mean, we've no idea what got them in the first place, much less what managed to drag them ALL into the water and out of sight before anyone could get there. But at least we have the foot print."

"We do?"

"Yeah. It doesn't register in any of the databases, but we do have a footprint. So, if anyone else figures it out, or runs across it, then we'll have one more clue to go on."

The rest of the meal was spent talking about wedding announcements and some of the more bizarre things that Lindsay and Danny had gone over in their search for more information. Sheldon made sure to not bring up the topic of what Danny would want on his invitations, or what Lindsay would want for that matter, because he knew that Danny would turn the tables on him. And that was a discussion that he did NOT want to get into at that moment. Nor did he want to get embroiled in that conversation in the near future.

Time passed quickly enough, and all too soon, Sheldon found that t was time to get back to the grind.

**0-0-0-0-0-0**

Mac walked into his office and found a box sitting on his desk. Curious, he went over to see the case number and was relieved to see that it was one of the files he had requested from storage in surprisingly pristine condition.

"So, let's see what kind of mystery we had the last time there was a murder at the Black Pearl," Mac mused to himself. He cut the tape that sealed the box with a small knife and flipped open the lid.

Upon opening the cardboard box, Mac wasn't sure to be disappointed or unsurprised. There was evidence, at least, but not a lot of it. More than he had seen for previous cases that got a conviction, but less than he would have been content with.

He pulled out the file first, as it was the surest way to find out what all was supposed to be in the box.

At four in the morning on December 21, 1993, a guard reported finding a mutilated body of a young blond girl. Upon further examination, the coroner discovered that she was approximately fifteen. She had severe lacerations all over her body, supposedly caused by either a large knife or some other form of bladed instrument. The deepest, most damaging injury was a deep puncture through her abdominal cavity, which was ruled the cause of death.

The medic at the time made a note that, since she was found with a sword near-by, he suspected that the instrument used to kill her was also a sword. He made further notes stating that the case might have been an issue where a mock sword fight went wrong, but he knew that the sword found on the scene was not the weapon that killed her. The blade was too narrow.

A knock on the door had Mac turning to see who was coming to speak with him.

"Hey, Mac," Flack said as he entered the room. In his hand, he had a few sheets of paper.

"Hey, Donnie," Mac nodded his greeting. Closing the file, he stuck it back in the box.

"What do you have there?" Flack asked, jerking his chin to indicate the box.

"I requested the old Black Pearl murder, trying to see if there might be any connection between then and now," Mac said as he walked around to sit in his chair.

Taking his cue from Mac, Flack sat down in one of the chairs across from him. "And?"

"And, I've found that sword use was found in both cases, and that each victim was a young female who died from open wounds that were seemingly inflicted by the use of a sword," Mac replied. "The young woman from 1993 was blond, though. Coroner suspected she was about 15."

"That would mean she'd be about thirty now," Flack mused. "Which would put her to be about the same age as Bella and Mia."

"And she was blond," Mac nodded. "Another sister, maybe?"

"You think this has something to do with revenge?"

"I don't know…" Mac sighed as he ran his hands over his face. "It would make just as much sense as everything else with this case."

"Yeah," Flack nodded. "Their sister gets killed trying to rob them, so they set out to make sure that Black Pearl Enterprises gets robbed again, only it's fifteen years later, and a higher-income company."

"Not so much," Mac said, shaking his head. "Black Pearl has always been lucrative."

"Well, maybe they weren't after money, then," Flack said with a careless shrug. "Maybe there was something else there that they wanted, something that has been there for at least the last fifteen years. At any rate, they set out to get young girls to go try and rob Black Pearl Enterprises again, only this time, they aren't as interested in getting whatever it was that was their sister's prize, but that they want to discredit the company by having a dead girl found on the premises?"

"So they use poison to kill one of their own," Mac muses. "Makes sense. Unfortunately, it doesn't do any discredit to the company. As soon as the body was found, all the projects that weren't time sensitive were halted for a week, allowing us to do our jobs, and all the ones that were time sensitive were moved to a different floor. Extra security measures were put in place. And the company's shares have remained high through it all."

"Something tells me that weathering bad storms is something that Black Pearl is good at," Flack commented. "Especially if it really is helmed by a former pirate."

Mac snorted at that, "Let's leave the ghost stories for Halloween, Donnie."

"Yeah, well, speaking of ghosts," the blue-eyed detective said as he handed Mac a few pieces of paper. "I managed to pull the phone records of Mrs. Langley's antique shop, and from what I can see, she rarely ever used her business line."

"Damn," Mac swore as he looked at the handful of calls that had been made all month.

"On the upside, I dunno what connections our Interpol guy has, but he somehow also managed to get them to pull Mrs. Loving's line. I was actually surprised that she still has a land line."

"And?"

"And there are about four calls made to her on a pre-paid cell phone. One was made a few hours before our first victim died. The second one was just after you spoke with Mrs. Langley. The third was made sometime last night around midnight. And the last one was made just before they pulled the records."

"Interesting," Mac thought aloud. "I bet that third one was about the time that the antique shop was being cleared out."

"I think that's a safe bet," Donnie nodded. "But the fourth one?"

As if to answer his question, the young detective's phone went off.

**0-0-0-0-0-0**

Flack arrived at the scene with dread forming a large stone in his stomach. There were cops all up and down the hallway, talking to neighbors and trying to keep others out of the crime scene. Downstairs, by the street, there were several cars with their lights still flashing.

"I can't believe this…" Norrington said as he trailed behind Donnie. Beside the Brit was Sheldon, his case in hand.

All three of them walked into the living room and had to flinch at the sight. Blood splatter was all over the room, including up the walls and onto the ceiling. Litter and clothes were strewn about even more haphazardly than the last time the trio had been there.

"Believe it," Flack said caustically.

"Detective Flack," one of the blues said as he stepped forward. "I'm O'Reilly, me and my partner were the first responders."

"Any clue as to who did this?"

"No one saw or heard anything," O'Reilly said with a shake of his head. He took off his hat and ran it over his thinning red hair.

"How were the bodies discovered?" Flack asked as he got out his notepad.

"Lady lives three doors down, says she wanted to talk to them about a job for them, but when she got here, the door was open. So, she came in and found… this."

"What a way to start her day," Flack said, shaking his head sadly.

He looked over to the side where Sheldon was already starting to take pictures of Elizabeth Miyako's body. She appeared to have been in the process of getting dressed for the day, as she was still in her pajama bottoms, but she had on the remains of what was once her bra.

Her brown eyes stared up lifelessly from near-by, a few feet away from her body.

"Multiple lacerations all over her body," Sheldon said, taking note of the several deep cuts along the victim's body body.

"Where's the sister?" James asked no one in particular. He stood behind and to the side of Sheldon, his hands on his hips and looking for the entire world as if he owned the place.

"She's in the bedroom," O'Reilly replied, jerking his head in that direction.

Flack thanked the officer as he and James headed to the other room.

Since they had never met the girl before, Flack could only assume that the other young woman laying dead on the bed was Anna Miyako. She was a bit heavier set than her sister, and her face was more moon-shaped. Her hair was cut in the same style, though, with the same purple highlights.

Instead of the obvious fight marks that Elizabeth bore, this one had only a single stab wound through her chest.

"With the amount of blood here, I'm betting she bled out," James said quietly, still shaking his head at the scene.

"We'll have our guys do the autopsy," Donnie sighed. "But I'd have to agree with you on that one."

"Dammit," James cursed as he turned away from the body. "This is becoming one giant clusterfuck."

Flack's eyebrows shot upward at hearing the older man curse.

At seeing his expression, James growled, "They were our only confirmation that Mia and Bella even new each other. Now, all we have are identical pictures of these women and another woman who claims to not know either of them."

"There's something they've missed," Donnie said, trying to be reassuring. "What that is, I've no idea, but I bet one of our guys will find it. They always do."

James frowned as he reached into his jacket pocket. "This is almost enough to make me want to start smoking again."

Instead of pulling out a pack of cigarettes, though, the green-eyed detective pulled out a small, traditional notebook. Flipping it open, he scribbled something down and then glanced back up at Flack. "We're running out of leads and witnesses, which is going to leave us with a lot of dead bodies and a lot of evidence, but not a single answer. So. How you feeling detective? Are you hungry?"

"Hungry?" Flack asked with no small amount of confusion. He looked down at the dead girl and then back up at the other investigator. "I don't know how things are handled where you're from, but around here we only eat on the way to or from a crime scene."

"Then let's leave and go somewhere else," James said, jerking his way to the door. "I'm in the mood for some sushi."

Flack blinked twice before he grinned at the other man. '_Oh, I get it. This is him losing his mind in a roundabout sort of way_._ Took him long enough to join the rest of us. Now, if only he'll leave Doc alone, I'll be happy._' "Well, now that you mention it, I could go for something along those lines myself."

"Great, I know the perfect place to go," James said as he led Flack into the other room.

"Hey Doc," Flack called out. When Sheldon looked up at him from where he was kneeling over the body, Flack tried to remember that there was a dead body there and that the smaller man wasn't doing anything intentional. "We're going to go to the sushi place real quick. See if Mia is there and if she has any more answers that might be useful."

"Alright," Sheldon nodded as he got back to his feet. "I'll stay here and process the scene. Meet you guys back at the lab?"

"Sure," Flack agreed. He knew from past experience that it wouldn't take Sheldon more than a few hours to gather and catalog all the evidence he could find in the room. "See you there tonight."

Flack turned away and was out the door before the realization of what he had just said caught up with him. He felt his entire face heat up from embarrassment, but was relieved to find that no one paid him any attention. '_I have got to get a grip! This is why it's a bad idea to fantasize about coworkers. I end up flirting with them, and making an ass of myself._'

**0-0-0-0-0-0**

Stella gave a quick tap on Mac's door before she entered the room. "So, the DNA that isn't human and isn't fish?"

"Yeah?" Mac asked as he looked up from going over another case file. He had his feet propped up on his desk and looked for all the world as if he was utterly relaxed, but Stella knew better. That was just the posture he assumed when he knew he was going to be in one place for a while.

"It IS human, but with some modifications," she said as she placed another file on his desk.

"A mutation?" Mac asked as he closed the file he had been reading and picked up hers.

"Yep," she smirked in hard won triumph. "Much like the DNA in our hair will change if we get ill with certain pathogens, or our cell's will mutate if we ingest the wrong virus or bacteria, these cells have also been co-opted."

"By what?"

"It seems…" Stella said as she sat down on the edge of Mac's desk. "I know that Agent Norrington said that no one survived the poison, but what if that isn't true?"

"Oh?"

"What if people did survive, but because they didn't know they were poisoned, didn't go to the hospital so we don't have records of it."

"Like surviving a motorcycle crash?" Mac asked.

"Right," the curly-haired detective nodded. "You either walk away from the crash without a scratch, or you don't walk away at all."

"And the scales?"

"The ones that walk away after months of therapy," Stella said as she pursed her lips. "Their bodies fought the poison, and while they survived the process, their bodies went under a severe mutation, to the point that instead of breaking out in hives or the like, their skin turned to scales, a sort of de-evolution."

"Which might explain why they call this poison Mermaids Flesh," Mac thought aloud. "Not only does it come from fish, but the mere fact that it turns people into fish-like creatures…"

"Fish like in that they have scales rather than that they can breathe underwater and swim like a fish," Stella nodded. "It would make an old, folks-tale sort of sense. And considering that this poison is native to rural Asia…"

"Are you able to duplicate the poison?" Mac asked, his mind working at an expedited rate.

"Unfortunately, no. There are chemicals involved that aren't even on the periodic table," Stella said as she shook her head.

"Damn," Mac sighed. "It would help us if we could try to reverse engineer some of this poison just so we could test it and see what the end result is."

"I know," Stella agreed. "But them's the breaks."

"So, what else is going on?"

"I'm trying to locate the crew of the ship that brought the human cargo into New York," Stella said, her mouth twisting with disappointment. "Unfortunately, just like every other lead in this case, I'm coming up dry."

"Oh?"

"Most of the crew are either missing, or found dead."

"Poison?"

"Of the seven we've found, two were stabbed, one was found O.D.'ed on cocaine, one is in the hospital for toxic shock and is not expected to recover, one was shot, one had his throat slit, and the final one got hit by a car and was pronounced dead at the scene."

Mac shook his head with stunned wonder. "Damn, but these women are racking up a body count."

"I'm telling you," the younger woman said. "Those feds weren't kidding when they said that everyone involved usually died. And there's no telling how long these women have been at it, either."

"I'd say since at least the early 90's," Mac answered her, indicating the file he had been reading as well as the evidence box. "But with the degree of professionalism involved with this, I'd say they aren't the first in the line, and I doubt they'll be the last."

"You think they're going to get their daughters involved in this?"

"You mean their surviving ones?" Mac asked. "Remember, Sherri was Mia's daughter, and our first victim was Sherri's cousin."

Stella nodded as she let that sink in. "If our first victim wasn't Bella's or Mary's daughter… do you think they have a third sister out there? If, say, Mary isn't their sister."

"Personally, I think Mary is their sister, and she was lying to us about not knowing the other two. That being the case, it's possible that they have at least one other sister out there, if not more. It would make sense," Mac frowned. "Especially if they really were behind the attack on Hawkes, Flack, and Norrington. Mary and Bella were too busy at the time, but Mia? She had time."

"That's true. It wouldn't have made sense for Bella to go back to her antique shop and then have Mary drop off her daughter," Stella said quietly, thinking aloud. "Hey, Mac?"

"Yeah?"

"You don't think that they would try to do anything to Kimberly, do you?"

**0-0-0-0-0-0**

Donnie locked the car with a quick punch of his keys, and then he and James headed to the alley that housed the sushi shop.

"Vests?" Flack asked, mindful of the last time they went on a routine question-and-answer session with one of these women.

"Do you honestly think that will matter when they come after us with swords?" James retorted. "Besides, I don't want to antagonize them any more than we already are."

"Maybe," Flack said with a shrug as they turned down the alley. "But I'd feel a lot better if I didn't have to worry about them shooting me."

"A vest isn't going to protect you from the possibility," James supplied. "It would only protect you from a chest wound."

"Yeah, I've had one of those before, and it wasn't any fun," Flack commented absently. '_You know, when he isn't trying to get all chummy with Hawkes, he isn't that bad of a cop. He really does need to stay away from the doc._'

"Me too, and yeah, it wasn't," James chuckled with dark humor.

They kept their eyes open down the alleyway, trying to spot anyone or anything that might give them trouble. Flack doubted that anyone but the most inebriated person would get in their way, considering the angry, powerful vibes that were sure to be radiating off of the two of them.

James reached the door to the sushi restaurant first, but Flack was right behind him as the two entered at practically the same time.

And just like last time, Flack had to take a moment to look around and actually -see- the place. The crystal clear water flowing all around him, as well as all the tropical fish. The soft sounds of the perfectly crafted waterfalls. And, of course, the central figure, the large tank and the sculpted mermaid. 'Mermaid. It's like they're freakin' advertising what they are, right there, out in the open! It's not that it's just a kitsch thing from nautical lore.'

However, as soon as he registered all the familiar items in the room, his brain also took note of a few things that were missing. Like the furniture.

There were no tables or chairs. There were no sculptures. There wasn't even a hostess station.

"What the bloody hell?" James asked. He reached for his gun even as he stepped forward, deeper into the cleared out restaurant.

Flack reached for his gun as well and began to carefully follow the green-eyed detective. "You think they got word that we were on the way over?"

"This would have taken all night to do," James said with a curt shake of his head. "They were probably pulling out of here at the same time that they were packing up the antique shop."

"Close," a familiar, feminine voice answered them.

The two detectives spun around quickly, their guns aimed at the speaker.

It was one of the blond sisters, her hair pulled back into a severe bun at the top of her head. Just as the first time they had seen Sherri, and just like the mermaid statue, the woman before them had sticks in her hair, and Flack suspected that the woman could very easily turn those into weapons. Not that she needed to. In her hand, she held her own gun pointed at one of the two officers. Her bright red lips were curved into a smug, satisfied smile. She wore an all black outfit very much like the ones that had been worn by the people who attacked them the other morning. Only, this time she went without a mask.

"Mia Sake?" James asked.

"Or Bella Langley?" Donnie followed.

"Does the name really matter?" Came another speaker. But the same voice.

Flack turned around immediately, instinctively trusting that James would keep his gun trained on the other woman.

"We have gone by many, many different names," she said. And just as some twins were known to do, she was dressed exactly as the other woman, down to the same bright red lipstick and same hair ornamentation.

"Names are meaningless in the grand scheme of things," the first woman informed them. "They can always change. But us? We do not change. We are who we always were."

"Mermaids," James said rather than asked.

"Yes," the two women fairly purred in unison. "Mermaids."

"With that self-admitted confession," James said, his voice strong enough to fill the room. "I now place you BOTH under arrest."

"By who's authority?" The first one asked, taking a step closer to them.

"By International Law, and Interpol," James said.

"We do not recognize international law, nor do we recognize Interpol as having such authority," the second one chuckled.

"In that case," Donnie said, moving so that he really was covering all of Norrington's back. "By the state of New York, I am placing you both under arrest for the murder of two young women. And let me just state right here, right now, that I don't care what prison you go to, aint no one real fond of mothers that kill their own kids, adopted or otherwise."

"Oh, isn't he just adorable?" a third voice called out.

Glancing to the left showed a third woman, a redhead that Flack could easily guess as the woman Stella had described to him. '_Wow, she really is a knock-out. But right now? I think I'd rather deal with a regular old snake than anything that pretty. Just like in nature, the prettier the colors, the more deadly the viper. And what was it that song said? The female of the species is more deadlier than the male…_' "Who are you?"

"Does it matter?" She asked, stepping forward with her gun trained on the two officers. Behind her, a young redheaded girl followed. In the little girl's hand, she had a sushi piece.

"Lady? You brought your KID to this?" Flack asked, horrified. He watched as the little girl popped the fish into her mouth.

The three women began to laugh.

"I would say that you shouldn't worry about her," the redheaded woman said as she put up her gun. "But the truth of the matter is… She's the only one in the room that you really DO have to watch out for."

And then, right before his eyes, the little girl began to change.

**0-0-0-0-0-0**

"Hey, Sheldon?"

Sheldon turned to look over his should in time to witness Stella running, in heels, down the hall towards him. He was a bit anxious, but also tired. It had taken him longer than he had ever expected to get through the Miyako sisters' home, as they just had so much -stuff- laying about, and he wanted to make sure to catalog as much as he could, just in case some of the blood on the different pieces wasn't theirs. "Yeah, Stella?"

"Have you seen Agent Norrington?" She asked as she finally reached him.

"Not since the double homicide," Sheldon said with a shake of his head. "Flack was supposed to meet me here this afternoon, but I called and left him a message that the scene was taking longer than normal to process. Why?"

"Someone from Interpol called the office a few hours ago and wanted to speak with him. We tried his cell, but he isn't answering."

"You think something happened?" Sheldon asked. "Did you try Don?"

"He isn't answering either, it goes straight to voice mail," the curly-haired woman said with a frown. "It isn't like him to not answer his phone."

"Do you think he might have gone underground?" the dark-skinned doctor asked as he turned to completely face her. "I mean, the last time I heard, they were headed towards the sushi house."

"Sushi house?"

"Yeah, the place where we first met Sherri and Mrs. Sake."

"Do you know the address?" Stella asked as she tugged him back towards the computer lab.

"Not off the top of my head," Sheldon said. "But I remember the name of the place."

"That'll work. And hopefully, they're there and alright."

Thirty minutes later, with an address in hand, Mac, Stella, and Danny all were leaving to go to the restaurant. Lindsay was sent to go home since she had already pulled four shifts without sleep. And because they all knew that he did not enjoy using his gun under the best of circumstances, Sheldon was also sent home to get some rest.

To say that he was upset at hearing that he was getting sent home like a naughty schoolboy was an understatement, but the good doctor understood the reasoning behind it. People's lives were on the line, not just Flack's and Norrington's, and they wanted to have people with them that wouldn't hesitate.

Not long after that, Sheldon packed up his things to go home. '_I think I'll run tonight, just to get a bit more relaxed,_' he thought to himself as he left the precinct. Looking around the area outside, he didn't see anything outside of the ordinary. Nothing that would cause his attention to focus on them.

An hour and a half later, he found himself standing outside a different door wearing different clothes. He hadn't bothered to shower when he got home; instead he went for his usual running clothes, although it was a variation of what he had worn in the past. Ever since the time he was framed for murder because of his green hoodie, Sheldon had made sure that he didn't have any patterns to his nightly exercise. At the same time, he didn't want to be wearing dark colors when he was out running at night, because other people might not see him, which was just one more way he could get hurt.

So, he stood out on his front steps wearing a yellow jacket and his regular jogging pants. He made sure the door was closed and locked behind him before he took off down a slightly less than random street.

Running.

He focused on the movements of his legs. On breathing. On the way the wind hit him and the way the world around him felt.

He didn't want to think. He didn't want to think about the dangers that surrounded them. He didn't want to think about what kind of trouble that Donnie might be in.

He didn't want to think about how it seemed that he had been running his entire adult life.

But that was one thought that always came back to him when he ran.

He had run from college, more than eager to embrace the medical profession and help others. But then he ended up running away from it because he didn't see himself as helping people. Not when they died on his table. Granted, he didn't have that high of a death count, but one was too many for him to take in good faith. The other one… that was just too traumatic for him to ever recover from. So, he ran.

Ran to the medical examiner's office of the NYPD, where he was transferred to Mac's lab and their experimental division. The best thing that had ever happened to him professionally.

But even in his personal life, he ran.

Ran and hid.

'_After doing this my entire life, I would think I'd get at least marginally good at it._' Sheldon thought to himself as he came upon the point where he turned to make his way back to his home. '_Or at least come to accept that it's what I do when I'm afraid._'

He could feel the slow burn setting into his legs, and his lungs were already telling them that they were ready for a rest. His heart was pounding in his chest, but Sheldon didn't slow. When he came up to a red light, he continued to jog in place. He didn't cross even though there were no cars at the intersection; instead he took the opportunity to push his body just a little more.

By the time he got home, Sheldon knew that his body was exhausted. His mind wasn't as tired, but he knew that he could sleep if he just… tried.

He let himself into his darkened apartment and began stripping out of his shirt with casual disregard.

"You might want to stay dressed, mate," came a lyrical voice from the shadows of the darkened room.

With his arms still trapped in his hoodie, Sheldon spun around in the dark, trying to find the speaker. "Who's there?"

A soft click of a nearby lamp revealed the dark-haired man from Mr. Thompson's painting. The same painting that had been carbon dated as being from the early 1700's. "Name's Captain Jack Sparrow. And I have some bad news for you."

Sheldon toss his hooded sweatshirt to the ground and backed away from the other man. "How did you get into my apartment?"

"I'm a pirate," Jack said with a whimsical smile. "I broke in."

"You are not Captain Sparrow," Sheldon said. "Maybe his descendant, but you aren't the man from the portrait."

"Sorry to disappoint you in believing that there might be more than one of me, but there is only me and I am the one and only," the devilish man continued to grin.

"So, what are you doing here?" Sheldon asked, trying to figure the best way to take the man into custody or at least call someone to help him arrest him.

"I'm here regarding your Inspector Norrington, and your American cop friend. The one you took to the sushi house the other day," Jack said, the laughter draining from his face. "The one that was captured along with Jamie."

"Jamie?"

"Norrington," Jack clarified.

"What about them?"

"Didn't you just hear a word I said?" Jack asked. "They've been captured! And if you don't help me help you, they're going to get killed."

"The police are already on their way to the sushi house, and in fact, they should have arrived over an hour ago."

Jack made an inarticulate sound as he threw his hands into the air. "They aren't at the sushi house now. They've already left that particular death trap for better accommodations."

"Oh?"

Jack rolled his eyes. "Listen, sawbones, you're going to have to follow me to catch me, so you might as well come with me so that you can keep up."

"You're not going anywhere," Sheldon said with more certainty than he was feeling.

"Oh, really?" Jack laughed as he looked Sheldon over. "Mate, there's been far bigger, better, and more impressive men that has said that to me. And some even managed to follow through with it for a time. But you? You're going to have to be very impressive if you want me to take you seriously."

Having taken some self defense classes, and knowing more about anatomy than most people realized, Sheldon fell into a familiar fighting stance. "This has nothing to do with being impressive."

"Oh, yes it does," Jack said as he twirled into the room. His hair and scarf flew through the air, hiding some of his movements. But there was no subtlety to the sword that Sheldon found at his throat even before Jack stopped moving. "Now, as I was saying about helping me help you…"

"Are you going to kill me?" Sheldon asked defiantly, his eyes on Jack's hand where it held the blade.

"Maybe later, after you've come with me."

"To where?"

"To the edge of your world, lad," Jack whispered darkly. "To where science stops and magic… magic rules over all."

**0-0-0-0-0-0**

Flack moaned as he tried to unsuccessfully move his head. His entire body hurt, and all he could think was that he needed to move, to get away from… something. He tried to roll away and he found that his body didn't want to obey him entirely, as if there was something blocking his movements. Restricting him.

'_I'm tied up, and not for any kind of fun reason_,' Flack thought to himself. He tried to remember when that happened, but all he could see was the little redheaded girl's eyes practically popping out of her skull.

And then her limbs… her hands… her skin.

Flack cried out as he tried to unsuccessfully jerk away from the horrible memory.

"Detective," came a soft, heavily accented voice, breaking into Flack's pain hazed mind.

Blue eyes blinked slowly open, and even the dim light was a bit much for him. "Yeah? 'm here. Sorta."

"Wish I wasn't," James rasped. He began to cough, and there was a noticeable wetness to the sound, which Flack knew couldn't be good. "God, it hurts."

"Yeah, well, hang in there," Donnie said as he took a much more complete stock of himself. "The others will come for us."

He was hogtied, and judging by the way his wrists and ankles were throbbing, he had probably been like that for a while. From what he could see in the pale moonlight streaming in from some unseen window, James was similarly tied.

"Always about the cavalry, huh?" James teased.

"There's something to be said for having each other's back," Donnie retorted. "How long you been conscious?"

"I'd guess about an hour," James replied tiredly. "But I'm not sure. I keep blacking out."

"Mmm," Flack breathed as he began to struggle against his bonds. "Wonder why they're keeping us alive."

"I think it's because we managed to kill that… thing," James shuddered at the memory.

"We did?" Flack asked.

"Yeah, it took some doing, but it finally went down," the British born investigator informed him. "You were out for the count. I think it was when you hit your head against the round aquarium, but it might have been when you crashed through it and hit the statue inside of it."

Flack was silent, trying to remember what, specifically, was the last thing he remembered.

After a lengthy pause, one in which the blue-eyed detective thought that James might have blacked out again in, the other man began again, as if he had never stopped. "I thought killing it would piss them off, but it didn't. I just amused them. Then they got a call, and the next thing I know, one of them jumps me."

"Shit," Flack cursed as he gave up on his bonds. "Have they been back since you've been awake?"

"Not when I'm aware, but like I said, there are times when I black out."

"Well, maybe we'll get lucky, and we'll get ourselves outta here, eh?" Flack remarked.

"Tell me something, Detective," James said slowly, as if he was half asleep.

"Sure, what?"

"Do you have any family?"

"I got a dad and a sister," Flack answered as he looked around the room as best as he could. Unfortunately, due to the gloom, he couldn't' see near as much as he wanted to, but what he could see… 'Wood floors, wood walls… one window way up high. Where the hell are we? Another warehouse?'

"What about a wife? Kids?"

"Nah, don't have a wife, and no kids that I'm aware of," Flack snorted. "Haven't had the time for the first and I'm too responsible for the second. What about you?"

"Cousins," James answered. "Distant cousins. And an older brother. He's an accountant."

"Yeah? Seems rather dull."

"That's what I thought, which was why I became a police officer," James laughed, though it sounded sadder than a laugh had any right to. "You know what's funny?"

"What?"

"That this will be the second time I've died and I haven't really improved my life any," James commented. "You'd think that with a second chance I'd have done something impressive."

"What's more impressive than being a cop?"

"Oh, I don't know," James sighed. "Maybe finding your true love."

"Love is made, not found," Flack retorted. "And you don't know, maybe you have found it."

"Oh? With who?"

"I dunno… maybe…" Flack racked his brain, trying to think of someone, anyone, who might get a rise out of the other man. He didn't need the only other person on his side in the room to already be admitting defeat. '_Well, he doesn't know that the Doc is straight, right? I mean, for most people it's a default, but he is European…_' "What about Doc?"

"Dr. Sheldon Hawkes?"

"Yeah."

"You sure you wouldn't kill me for that?" James began to chuckle. "With as over protective and as possessive as you are with the good doctor, I somehow think that he's not for me."

Flack felt his cheeks turn a dark red, and was grateful to the darkness of the room. '_Have I been that obvious?_' "… Well, you never know, ya know. I mean, it could happen."

The other man's chuckles died away after a moment.

"Norrington, you still with me?"

No answer was forthcoming.


	5. The End Is Just The Beginning

_Title__: Lost Souls  
Chapter__: 5 – The End Is Just The Beginning  
Author__: ctrl_issue  
Fandom(s)__: CSI:NY/Mermaid Saga/PotC  
Rating__: M for Mature (for cursing, and for violence)  
Pairings__: Flack/Sheldon, Sparrow/Norrington, mentions of Messer/"Montana"  
Disclaimer__: If you know it, I don't own it. And chances are, even if you DON'T know it, I don't own it.  
Summary__: Sometimes there are Lost Souls that wander this world, and no amount of science will ever be able to explain the how or the why.  
Author's Notes__: This is my NaNo project. I should warn for Slash, OOC-ness, and WTF-ery all around. It's just that the premise of this amuses me. At any rate, please keep in mind that NONE of these are "my" fandoms. I've never written in any of them before. Hell, I've barely read anything for CSI:NY. I figure that's okay for NaNo. Although, truth to tell, and I know this is pretty late in the game for this, but I've never read (or written) anything for NaNo, either. Does it make me a bad person that my first time is with crack? And, okay, so, it never got smutty. Bite me, okay. At this point, I'm just saying "fuck it" and letting it be as is. Maybe, one day, when I'm bored out of my skull, I'll go back and redo this so that it's actually up to my standards. In the mean time… here it is. Enjoy.  
Word Count So Far__: 41.836 for the first four chapters, plus 8.261 for this one. In total, I totally met the 50K mark. Go me!_

**Lost Souls**

James took a deep breath as consciousness returned to him for the umpteenth time. He waited for the customary dizziness to retreat, and for his eyes to adjust to the bizarre amount of light. '_I wonder how long it takes for a concussion to heal. I know I've had them before, but… I can't remember how long this is going to last._'

"He's awake," came a feminine voice from somewhere in the shadows. James turned to look down his body as someone stepped out of the shadows. Green eyes tried to focus, but the image before him kept swimming in and out of his awareness.

The moonlight spilling in from some random window allowed him to see that she had silver-blond hair. He thought she looked like Bella or Mia, but he wasn't sure which one. Or if she even really looked like them. Instead of the all black outfit from earlier at the restaurant, she wore a loose shirt and a skirt that could almost be described as a loincloth with its shortness in length and the dual slits up the sides.

"Who are you?" She asked.

"Inspector James Norrington," James slurred. "Who'reyou?"

"I am Elisa Black," she replied. "Are you the one that Sparrow is interested in?"

"Sparrow?" James asked in utter confusion. '_What does he have to do with anything? Crazy bastard thinks I'm the reincarnation of my ancestor. Bloody fool…_'

James jerked awake with a rough slap to the face. The world spun once again, and it took him another moment to realize that he was on his knees, his hands still tied to his ankles.

The woman crouched in front of him, her face cast in shadows. But even without adequate light, James could read the murder in her eyes. "Yes, Sparrow. The pirate."

"I capture pirates." James said slowly, trying to play dumb.

"Not this one, you didn't," she snorted. "This one seems to have captured you."

"You're a pirate?" James asked, blinking rapidly.

Another slap across the face brought him back to reality, Flack cursing from somewhere nearby.

"Leave him alone, you goddamn bitch, can't you see he's hurt?"

"He is going to be a lot more hurt unless I have answers."

"What do you want to know?" James rasped.

"Which of you are Sparrow's?"

"What the hell are you talking about, woman?" Flack asked. "We're cops, not ghost hunters."

"We have seen one of you walk into Sparrow's territory."

'_That was me, walking to his ship. They must have had me followed._'

"Which time, because I've been to his place twice," Flack bragged.

"No, she's-" James began. Unfortunately for him, the strange blond woman shoved James back to the ground, causing him to hit his head again.

When he came to again, it was just him and Flack in the dark room again.

"You okay, detective?" James asked through his pounding headache.

"I should be asking you that, inspector," Flack replied. "I'm not the one that keeps passing out."

"Concussion, I think," James said. "And you shouldn't have told her that you were the one that went to Sparrow's."

"What? You want to get beat some more?"

"No, not hardly," James tried to chuckle. Though he knew that he was going to continue to black out off and on, he hoped that his suspicions were correct. If he were one of them, he would be listening in on their conversation. '_Then again, they could think that we're a bit low on their priority list. Wouldn't that be my luck?_' "But the truth of the matter is… I actually went to his territory."

"We both went-"

"I've been to his ship," James said, cutting the younger man off.

"What?" Flack asked, his voice soft, as if he were trying to whisper loudly.

"I've been to his ship," James repeated. "I… they must have had me followed."

"If they were that smart, they would have known it was you and not me," Flack retorted.

"But I went to his ship, so they really are after me."

"Why did you go there?"

"To find answers."

"Answers? About the case?"

"No, not about the case," James said as he pressed his cheek into the cool, wooden floor. "I wanted answers about myself."

"So you went to a stranger?" Flack asked. There was no masking the confusion n the younger man's voice, and James could appreciate it.

After all, it mirrored his own. "Who better to know me than a stranger?"

"How about a friend? I hear they're great for that," Flack shot back. "Or, hell, even a coworker. I can tell you lots of things about you."

"But can you tell me why the captain of the Flying Dutchman knew me?"

"Huh?"

"The captain of the Flying Dutchman knew me," James repeated. "And said that he didn't want me on his ship again, and that he wouldn't ferry me to the afterlife…. Not when I had already been trapped on their ship for over two hundred years the first time."

"How'd that happen?"

"Something about dying on their ship, I think. Legend says that anyone who dies on the Flying Dutchman is cursed to sail with them until…"

"Until?"

"I forget," James said. "My head's… a little fuzzy."

"Concussion," Flack said sadly.

"Concussion," James agreed. After a moment, he added in a voice that sounded small even to him, "I'm tired."

"Stay awake, man, tell me more about stuff," Flack said. There came the sound of struggling as the other man tried to do something. A moment later, his voice called out, a little closer. "Tell me what do you think of us? What do you think of… Mac? Stella? Any of us?"

James grinned despite himself. "Self centered prick, you really want to know what I think of you?"

"Fine, what do you think of me?"

James chuckled to himself, but was willing to give it a shot. If nothing else, the younger man would be able to know when he passed out and regained consciousness again.

**0-0-0-0-0-0**

Sheldon took a deep breath of the salty air as he hid in the shadows of a crate. Nearby, a large ship docked in a rented slip. There were only a handful of lights on, as if to show that there was only minimum security. However, by the way his nerves were screaming at him, the good doctor knew that he was in some serious, serious trouble.

Of course, some of that might have had more to do with his companion than anyone else who might or might not have been lurking in the shadows on the ship.

"I cannot believe you conned me into following you," Sheldon hissed at the rum-smelling man.

"Like you had a choice, mate," Jack chuckled. "I say your friends are in danger, and just like any other loyal friend, you go running."

"So, you mind telling me what this is all about?"

"Curses and revenge," Jack said as he peered up over the top of the crate they were hiding behind.

"Those are the same thing," Sheldon replied dryly. "And I don't see what that has to do with Flack and Norrington."

"It has nothing to do with your mate, Flack," Jack said as he leaned back down. "But a lot to do with Mr. Norrington."

Sheldon glanced at him before peeping back over the crate. He ducked back down when he saw some shadowy figure shuffling along the upper decks.

"Uh-huh, and that would be?"

"Me."

"Arrogant," Sheldon commented.

"The Mermaids and I have been fighting for better than a hundred and fifty years, when I first heard that eating their flesh could grant you either a quick death or the kiss of immortality," Jack said as he sat back against the wooden crate. "Back then, I was still high on myself for finding the fountain of young life-"

"You mean the Fountain of Youth?"

"No, I mean the Fountain of Young Life," Jack corrected him. He rolled his eyes as he explained. "Who wants to live forever if they still age? Fountain of Life gives you permanent life, but it doesn't do anything for your age. And the Fountain of Youth just turns the clock back till your in baby's clothes. No, I stole the map that led me to the Fountain of Young Life, savvy, and I drank my fill of it until I was sure that it was going to do its work, damn the consequences."

"So, if you were already immortal, why did you go after the Mermaids?" Sheldon asked, not believing in the immortality in the slightest.

"See, I am immortal, but no one else is, which makes my endless life rather boring. And I can't make any more of me, seeing as how the Fountain was ruined due to a blasted hurricane," Jack cursed as he brought out his gun and made sure it was loaded. "Plus, there really aren't any more of me out there, not even the undead monkey. Funny, that. After Barbosa died for the last time… it never was the same. Killing it was doing it a favor, really."

Sheldon took note that while the man said he was born in the early 1700's, he carried a very modern, very lethal weapon.

"The ins and outs of it is this, though. I heard about the Mermaid Flesh, so I decided to see if it actually worked, and what I found was a bunch of old hags trying to force some girls into becoming immortal."

"Force them?"

"Right, force them," Jack nodded. "So that they could eat them."

"What?" Sheldon asked, jerking back in horror.

"Eat them to gain back their youth. It's how the Mermaids stay young, savvy?" Jack asked.

"You can't be serious?" Sheldon hissed, mindful that there were just as dangerous and crazy individuals watching for them as there was stuck hiding behind a bunch of musty old crates with him. "You expect me to believe-."

"No," Jack shook his head. "What I expect you to believe is that, because I've taken a shine to Mr. Norrington, the Mermaids, ever mindful of delivering private and prompt messages to me, have taken him hostage and plan to kill him. Your Mr. Flack just happened to have gotten in the way. And as such, I think you would be of mind to help me rescue him."

And with that, the long haired man ducked away and began to crawl amidst the shadows towards the locked-down ship.

"I have got to be out of my mind," Sheldon muttered to himself. And yet, he still followed the other man, crawling after him.

He wasn't sure how he made it onto the ship's deck, but he knew that he wasn't going to try it again. Pulling out his own gun, he took lead and went in the direction that Jack indicated, which lead them further and further up the boat, occasionally stopping so that Jack could kneel down and… pray? Sheldon couldn't be sure, but it sounded like muttering to him, and with Jack's eyes closed every time he looked over there, that was the only thing he could think of.

Every now and then, they would come across a window, and Sheldon made sure to stay clear of the view ports. However, at one particular one, he heard a familiar voice. Unsure of what was being said, or even if there were words at all, Sheldon took a chance and peeked inside.

On the floor, tied up, were James and Donnie.

Surrounding them were dozens and dozens of women, all in various states of dress and undress. From his vantage point, Sheldon could see other, larger figures lurking against the doorways and walls. Those larger figures shuffled about the room.

One of them cried out when one of the two bound detectives cried out again, shouting indistinctively. The sound was earsplitting, and if it weren't for the hand that was suddenly covering his mouth, Sheldon knew that he would have given them away.

"Mind your tongue, doctor," Jack whispered against his ear.

Sheldon nodded his head vehemently.

"Now then," Jack commented as he removed his hand. He put something cold and heavy in Sheldon's palm and whispered. "Take this sword and take their head. It's the only way to kill them."

"Just like on T.V?" Sheldon whispered hoarsely.

"Something like that," Jack hissed as he passed the dark-skinned doctor by. "And by the by? I told you so."

Sheldon looked over at him and made a face before he shifted the sword to his other hand and pulled out his cell phone.

"I should have done this hours ago," he muttered to himself as he quickly pressed the fourth person on his speed dial.

**0-0-0-0-0-0**

Mac walked out of the elevator and was immediately bombarded by a ringing phone. After arriving at the sushi restaurant and finding only destruction behind, he had left Danny to go over the scene. When she was fresh, Mac knew that she would automatically go to the lab to help with the processing.

With a deep sigh, the former marine pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and looked at the display.

"Who is it?" Stella asked as she looked over his shoulder.

"Hawkes," Mac sad with a frown of confusion. 'Wonder what he is calling about? I told him to go home.' With a single pushed button, he brought it to his ear. "This is Mac."

"Hey, Mac," Sheldon's voice was quiet over the other end, barely audible over the background noise. A horn blew in the distance, and Mac could hear the other man cursing at the noise for a moment.

"Hawkes?"

"Mac, you gotta come quick, there's trouble."

"Where are you? What's going on?" Mac asked as he grabbed Stella by the strap of her bullet proof vest.

"I'm at the docks, on pier four, slip thirteen," Sheldon said. "They've got Donnie and James."

"Who?"

"The mermaids! They have Flack and Norrington."

"Okay, got it," Mac said. "Pier four, slip thirteen," Mac said as he nodded to Stella. "Someone has Flack and Norrington hostage."

"Right," Sheldon muttered. "And be careful, because I think the place is rigged to explode."

"Are you on the ship?" Mac asked, feeling his heart jump clear up to his throat.

"For right now, yeah," Sheldon replied. "But I'm not hoping to be here for long."

"What are you doing there?" Mac asked as he motioned for the curly-haired detective next to him to go get some of the other police officers for back up.

"I got roped into this by the mysterious Captain Jack Sparrow," Sheldon told him. "The guy in the portrait in the lab. And Mac, if I wasn't seeing this for my very own eyes, I wouldn't think it was possible to look so much like someone like that, but this guy is crazy. I wouldn't put it past him to just have surgery to make the alternate personality real, like that woman from Second Life and her avatar."

"How unstable is he?" Mac asked as he headed back to the elevator.

"He's the one who's rigging the place to blow up. I thought he was just kneeling and praying, but… seems he was actually setting charges."

"We'll be there in ten minutes, Hawkes. Get out of there." Mac waited for the elevator to come back up to his floor, Stella joining him as well as several other officers.

"I'll do what I can, Mac, but… I can't make any promises. Flack is in some serious trouble."

The phone shut off before the elevator arrived.

**0-0-0-0-0-0**

Donnie swore as the woman hit James again. He knew that he couldn't do anything except swear at her to distract her, so he did his best to keep up the most vulgar diatribe he could come up with. And after being the son of a cop, and a cop himself, and friends with one Danny Messer, he knew some language that he hoped his mother would never know about.

The odd woman had returned to the room and had started beating James immediately, even though Flack was the one who had admitted to visiting Jack. He could only assume that they had overheard their conversation.

But his obscenities were cut off by the sudden, mind-numbing shriek of metal bending. And while he was left, slack jawed and in pain, out from the shadows came something very much like what the young girl from the sushi restaurant turned into.

"What the hell?" Flack managed to gasp.

"He is a Lost Soul," a distinctly unfamiliar voice said. "And he's hungry."

That was when Flack realized that he, James, and the torturer were not the only ones in the room.

There were dozens and dozens of people there. Mostly women, but he could hear the shuffling of larger bodies that he hoped were men rather than… Lost Souls.

"What… what…" Flack stuttered.

"I'm of the opinion that we should just feed you to them, give the bones to ol' Cap'n Jack," the stranger said as she finally stepped forward. She was a young woman, no more than sixteen. "But I'm not the leader here, I'm just the second."

"Who…?" Flack

"I am in charge," another woman said.

She was the equal in every measure to the sixteen year old. Same cheekbones, same almond shaped eyes. Same dark eyelashes and eyebrows. Same white blond, curly hair. And for the moment, they were dressed in the same outfit as Norrington's torturer.

"Twins?" Flack asked, tired of seeing double again and again on this case.

"Not quite," the second woman responded. "But for now, for your last moments, you can believe that."

"No," the second woman admonished. "Give him the truth. They deserve at least that much."

"As you like, sister," the first grinned before she walked over to Flack. Kneeling in front of him, she said. "We are Mermaids, and we regain or youth through the flesh of those who are immune to our poison. We used to take only one girl per village, but over time we have learned that that is not the most effective way to go about our lives. So, we instead gather as many as we can raise at one time, teaching them. Training them. Perfecting them. And when the time is right, we feed them the flesh of one of us and see if they survive. Some do not. Some die right there on the spot. Some take longer to die, but they eventually do. Some turn into lost souls."

Flack leaned back on the floor to glance over at the hulking beast of a creature that was shuffling away from one of the young women, afraid of her just as much as any sane creature had the right to be.

"And some… some survive the poison," the young woman continued, her grin turning downright devilish. "Only, those are the ones that we kill. And then eat. And once we devour their flesh, we regain our youth, and take on their face. And then we grow a little older, and then we adopt more girls. So the cycle continues."

"You're crazy, you hear me," Flack said, horrified beyond description. "Fuckin' crazy!"

"Maybe to you," she said, her smile still in place. "But you won't have to worry about it."

"What are you going to do to us?" the blue-eyed cop asked, eyeing her suspiciously.

With a snap of her fingers, two other women dressed all in black, and looking exactly alike, stepped forward. They each held small plates in their hand.

"We're going to see what happens when you eat the flesh of a Mermaid," the supposed leader of the clan cooed. "We'll start with the green-eyed one, seeing as how he's closest to death anyway."

The first of the two women nodded their heads and stepped forward.

Flack struggled to sit up, but a hard hand pushed him back to the ground, and then covered his mouth.

"Be silent, young man," she said, her eyes looking far to evil and mature to belong to a normal sixteen year old. "I don't want to hurt you too much just yet. Your turn is coming, though, so have no fear."

Donnie was forced to watch, helplessly, as Norrington was pushed back, and then food shoved forcibly down his throat.

"That's a good boy."

The Interpol agent was so wounded, so completely out of it at that time, that Flack knew that the man would do whatever they asked him to do if he could. Anything to make the pain stop.

And Flack knew… he would be next.

"He's swallowed it," the other woman sad as she stood back up. She tossed the plate to the side, and let it crash against the ground.

"Your turn now, pretty boy," the woman in front of him said.

But before they had the opportunity to force-feed him anything, a loud explosion rocked the building, causing the entire earth to shift around them.

Flack had a moment of outright panic, his heart almost stopping, as he flashed back to the time that he was caught in a bomb's explosion. The moment didn't last, though, as the world around him quickly went black.

**0-0-0-0-0-0**

Mac arrived to the designated pier in time to watch fireworks go off.

"You think Sheldon is still on that thing?" Stella asked as she climbed out of the car.

Mac pulled his binoculars from the back seat and looked towards the ship. He wasn't sure who was still aboard, but he could see people. And then he heard the gunshots. He tossed the binoculars back into his car before he shut the door. "I'm not sure of anything right now, Stella, but if I have men on that boat, I'm gonna make damn sure I get them off of there."

He pulled out his gun and started running towards the fireworks. He knew that Stella was right behind him, and behind her were a slew of other officers.

These women had taken the lives of people they held dear, and there were still officers that were under siege. There was no way that anyone was going to stay behind while others avenged their comrades.

Once they reached the ship, he and the other officers spread out, trying to find both the hostiles as well as the friendlies. He had told them that Detective Flack was suspected on board, as well as Interpol Agent Norrington. He also told them that Sheldon and one other potential friendly were onboard, but if it looked like they were in danger, that they should protect themselves at all cost. He didn't have to remind them about the horrors of the warehouse.

Which was good, because even before they stepped onto the boat, they could hear that familiar scream. '_That's going to haunt me the rest of my life_,' Mac thought to himself as he raised his gun.

Oddly enough, if it weren't for the explosions, Mac though that the boat would have been rather anti-climatic.

Until the ninjas attacked.

They were covered in black and each held swords, which might have been a disadvantage in certain areas of the ship, especially the closer quarter ones. However, in the open air of the crew deck, they were very effective weapons, especially as the women wielding them seemed to know exactly what they were doing with them. Uncaring about bullet-proof vests and helmets, the women went straight for hands and joints with excruciating precision and mind-boggling speed.

Fortunately, what the officers lacked in some areas, they more than made up for in others. Each person had a back up, so that when one was under attack, the other would automatically ensure their safety. They traveled in packs as they descended into the heart of the hellish belly of the ship.

Mac didn't take point, though he dearly wanted to. Instead, he let another officer do so. However, once down the stairs, when the passageways opened up, he and Stella turned down one corridor while the others went their own ways.

Rocking with the boat as more and more explosions went off, Stella commented, "If we don't get to them soon, we're going to go down with the ship, as well as everyone else here."

"I just hope that it doesn't come to that," Mac grunted as he was forced against the wall at his back.

In front of him another, less haunting cry echoed down the hall. Mac blinked a few times as he moved his gun, just in case something happened he didn't want it to go off accidentally. Just as he did so, a familiar figure came racing down the hallway.

"Hawkes!" Mac called out, trying to get the doctor's attention.

If the smaller man heard him, he wasn't giving any indication, as he continued to run for all his worth down the hallway, the whites of his eyes blazing bright as he moved.

'_I wonder if he ran track_,' Mac thought absently as he watched the other man blaze by him. But once Sheldon was out of his line of sight, the former marine could see what had him so terrified.

A huge, hulking beast was coming down the hallway, it's frame barely managing to fit down the ship's hallways.

"What the hell is that?" Stella asked, horror evident in her voice.

"I don't know, but I know that it doesn't look friendly," Mac said as he began to fire at it.

The bullets penetrated its skin, but the thing continued forward, shuffling and screaming at them. But just as it was getting close enough to do some serious damage to them, and Mac and Stella began to back up, another cry echoed down the hallway.

And then, like quicksilver, the head of the beast came rolling off and onto the floor.

"You know, for a scientific lot, you people sure are intent on doing the same thing over and over again, even when you know it isn't going to work."

Mac blinked his eyes as the creature fell to the ground, revealing the speaker.

"In this line of work, that's not only insanity, that's just as good as a trip to the gallows."

"Mac, Stella, meet Jack," Sheldon said around his panting.

Mac turned to look at the smaller man and realized that he hadn't gone far, wanting to stay behind for reasons that escaped the former marine for the moment.

"That's CAPTAIN Jack. Captain Jack Sparrow," the stranger said vehemently. "Damn your eyes, you would think that someone, anyone, would get that right. In over two hundred years, is it too much to ask that someone introduce me correctly?"

Just then another explosion rocked the boat, and everyone except the strange, long haired man went pell-mell towards the far right wall. When they managed to right themselves again, Jack was gone, and it was just the three CSI agents.

"What are you doing here, Hawkes?" Mac asked.

"I've found Flack and Norrington, but I can't get the door open," Sheldon said.

"Lead the way, then," Stella said, jerking her head. "We'll get the door open."

"One way or another," Mac agreed. He didn't like the idea of Sheldon being without a vest, but given their current situation, he wasn't going to be able to do too much about it. Especially if Flack or Norrington were hurt, they would need the doctor and all of his skills as soon as they got there.

Racing back down the hallway, Sheldon showed them what appeared to be a random door. There was blood everywhere, but no bodies, which was too much of a reminder of the warehouse for Mac's liking, but he didn't have time to worry about that at the moment.

Together, the three of them managed to open the door.

**0-0-0-0-0-0**

Flack woke up to the sound of a heart-monitor beeping close by. He knew the sound far too well for his liking, truth to tell, but at least it gave him the knowledge that he was, indeed, alive. He didn't bother trying to take a deep breath, afraid that they might have him hooked up to some kind of breathing machine or… something. Instead, he started by stretching his fingers.

Which was when he came into contact with something. Or rather, someone.

Blue eyes blinked open. At first the light in the room was damn near blinding, but once he became more adjusted to it, he was able to looked down his body to find the back of a familiar head laid down very close to his thigh.

Total awareness came back to Flack, quicker than he could have ever thought possible.

He remembered the sushi house. Remembered the little girl that transformed into a monster right before his eyes. Remembered getting the shit beat out of him. Remembered waking up in the strange storage place where the Mermaids had taken him and Norrington. Remembered them continuing to beat Norrington. Remembered being forced to eat Mermaid Flesh. Remembered… explosions.

Flack blinked rapidly as he rested back against his pillows. '_Well, of all the ways to wake up, at least this one is rather… different. Bet they've got me on some serious painkillers right now, because I sure as hell don't feel a thing. But what's Doc doing here?_' Instead of calling out to the still sleeping man, Flack stretched out his hand again, this time lifting it to touch the back of Sheldon's head.

He was able to feel the slight kiss of Sheldon's hair against his fingertips for all but one of his fingers, the one that happened to be attached to the heart monitor. '_Not a bad way to wake up at all,_' Flack continued to think to himself. 'I bet if I wasn't so heavily medicated right now, this could get embarrassing, but thank God for strong drugs.'

With a muffled groan of his own, Sheldon woke up. He tensed for a moment before sitting back in his chair, stretching the entire way, and allowing Flack to get more ideas to play with later.

"Yo, Doc," Flack rasped. "How's things?"

Sheldon jerked his attention to Flack, all semblance of exhaustion gone. "Hey, man, you're awake."

"So it would seem," Flack tried to grin. "But it's kinda hard to tell. I think they have me on some really hard painkillers."

"They do," Sheldon said as he got to his feet. He bent over and pressed his warm hands against Flack's throat.

Flack had no idea what the other man was checking for, but he could easily appreciate having the other man's hands on him for no real reason at all.

He waited patiently as the petite doctor went over all of his vitals, checking all of the monitors and the flow of the bag and a dozen other quick things, before he asked, "So, am I going to live?"

"Well, if you're asking my professional opinion, you have a better than average chance. Vitals are good, and you seem to be in overall good health. Although, you take a lot more risks than your average person, and your diet is terrible. Also, you need to stay clear of women bent on killing you. I'd prescribe a stable relationship, but I don't think they have that down at this pharmacy."

"Damn, and here I was, holding out some hope," Flack said with a dry laugh that in turn caused him to cough. "Oh, that wasn't fun."

"No, I imagine t wasn't," Sheldon said with a shake of his head. "Let me go alert the nurse's station that you're awake."

Before Flack could disagree, Sheldon was leaning out the door and making a signal with his hand.

The blue-eyed detective wasn't sure if the nurses just responded that quickly or if he passed out, but the next thing he knew, he was undergoing another battery of tests, the same kind of touching, prodding, and fidgeting that he had already endured from Sheldon, only the first time he almost enjoyed it. 'Different people have different kinds of hands, and the Doc's seem to at least be warm and almost caring. I bet he made a great doctor. Before. But I'm glad he's with us now.'

While he was enduring the nurses and another, new doctor's examination, he noticed Sheldon open the door again, and then Stella was taking his place.

He didn't even bother listening to the doctor, just nodding his head every time it seemed that he was supposed to give an answer, and was indescribably relieved when the flurry of nurses was led out of the room by the old man.

"Well, now that we know that you're going to live," Stella said with a grin. "I bet we can convince Sheldon to go home and rest."

"Oh? He been here a lot?"

"Between here and work, I doubt he's seen the inside of his apartment." Stella said, her grin remaining fixedly in place.

Flack tried not to blush at that, but wasn't sure how well he succeeded in that, considering how tired he was. Instead, he tried to change the subject. "So, where's Mac?"

"Mac is back at the office, dealing with the aftermath of the case. Sheldon's outside, calling him and letting him know about your status."

"What happened?" Flack asked, fighting off the temptation to go back to sleep.

"Before or after the raid on the slaver's ship?"

"What?"

"You and Norrington were being held on the same slaver's ship that brought in the illegals for the human trafficking," Stella tried to explain. "Someone whom we can only identify as Captain Jack Sparrow, and yes, I've seen the likeness between him and the oil painting, kidnapped Sheldon and dragged him to the docks in order to go up against the Mermaids. He called Mac to let him know what was going on, but once there, he found you and Norrington tied up and being poisoned."

"We weren't just being poisoned…" Flack said slowly. "We were going to be a message to-"

"In the official report, you were being poisoned." Stella informed him sternly. "And when Sheldon saw what was going on, he went with the man known as Jack Sparrow to rescue you. That was his only goal."

"And so, here I am?" Flack asked.

"Well, not so nice and neatly," Stella said, her grin returning. "But after a wild chase through the bowels of the ship, and after seeing a point-blank shot heal instantly when we shot at the Mermaids, well… suffice it to say, we were quite impressed with the fact that we got at least one body as well as all the Mermaids' daughters. Who, by the way, aren't talking."

"We got a body of one of them?"

"Not… exactly," Stella said, her grin twisting into a grimace.

"Then what?"

"We have the body of what the daughters are calling a Lost Soul. Seems that if a person eats the Mermaid Flesh, one of three things happens. They either die immediately, they… change, or they don't do either of those things. The daughters say that if you don't die or change, that it makes you immortal, but we're of the opinion that that's just a cultic myth."

Flack closed his eyes for a moment, trying to process all that Stella was telling him. "And what about Norrington?"

"He's fine," Stella informed him. "He was up and about as soon as the paramedics gave him a clean bill of health."

Flack opened his eyes and looked up at her. '_He was dying the last time I remember seeing him_,' he thought to himself. Instead of voicing that thought, though, Flack asked, "So, what's going to happen with the body of the Lost Soul?"

"Dissected and studied," Stella said with a shrug. "There isn't a lot known about that specific poison, and there's no record of what it does other than kill people, so this is going to go into some heavy study."

"Mmm," Flack commented without saying anything.

"Sheldon guesses that you should be out of here by tomorrow morning now that you're awake," Stella said, distracting him again.

"Oh?"

"Well, he said that they would probably want to keep you here overnight after you woke up, just to make sure that you weren't too badly broken," she clarified. "So, that means tomorrow morning."

"I see," Flack said, pleased.

"He's been doing his best to take care of you while you're here," Stella informed him.

"That's because there's no telling, or controlling, the amount of trouble he's going to get himself into when he's out of the hospital," Sheldon said as he entered the room.

"Hey, it's all in the line of duty," Flack said around a yawn.

Sheldon snorted as he crossed his arms over his chest, and Stella covered her mouth to stifle a laugh.

"I wonder if hospitals might offer something like a discount like frequent flyer miles. Earn rewards the more you visit them," Stella teased him.

"Mmm, wonder what kind of rewards those might be," Flack asked as he eyed Sheldon. "Maybe in home care for free?"

Sheldon tilted his head to the side and quirked his eyebrow. "I'm sure we could see about arranging that. If nothing else, it would mean we would know you actually did as the doctor ordered."

**0-0-0-0-0-0**

Mac sighed as he closed the box on his desk. Using the now familiar tape, he also sealed the box closed. It, as well as the other box he had pulled for storage, was due to be picked up in a few minutes. Of all the things in the world that he disliked, being unable to solve a case was one of them. In this instance, he was actually able to solve the case.

But no one would believe him.

'_Immortals_.' Mac snorted to himself. He had seen these creatures take bullets at close range, true. And he had seen her heal right before his eyes. He even had one of their cadavers in his morgue, though that lasted for as long as it had taken for the sheet to come off before the CIA were banging down his door. '_With as much pull as Norrington had over the FBI, it seems that he has none when it comes to the CIA. I'm not sure if that's a good thing, or not. At least it shows that Interpol doesn't control ALL of our strings. At the same time, I would have really have liked a chance to see more of what that body was made of._'

As if on cue, Mac's cell phone rang.

He glanced at the display before answering, "Mac Taylor."

"Hello, Detecting Taylor," the Brit answered. "How are things?"

"CIA has already taken the cadaver, if that is what you are asking about," Mac said as he walked around his desk to sit in his chair.

"Actually, it wasn't, but that's good to know anyway," the other man replied. Over the phone, there was a great deal of background noise, giving away the fact that the other man wasn't in his hotel room. The fact that he was using the phone at all led Mac to believe that he wasn't in the hospital, visiting Flack or Sheldon. '_So, where is he?_'

"Well, if this is a social call, let me say that I'm glad to see that you're up and about. I had heard that you were forced to eat some of the Mermaid's poisoned fish."

"It's good to be up and about," Norrington agreed. "And I did eat it. However, I seemed to have lucked out again."

"Oh?"

"It seems that I'm one of the few people that it doesn't kill outright," Norrington said. "Which means… I've been given a third chance at life."

"Someone wants you to be around for a while," Mac said, frowning. 'Third? Maybe I should ask Sheldon or Flack. They might be able to fill me in.'

"So it would seem. But, since they want me around, I'm wondering when they're going to offer me any clue as to what they want me to do," Norrington laughed, but Mac could tell there was very little humor there. "As such, I… wanted to tell you that as of today, I'm no longer with Interpol."

"What?" Mac asked, startled.

"Something tells me that, as good as I am at what I do, that isn't the path for me. At least, not any more."

"In that case, what are you going to do?"

"I'm going to sail the seven seas for a bit, see more of the world, try and understand my place in it."

'That's understandable, considering you almost lost your life.' Mac's frown lessened. "You're superiors-?"

"They don't want me to go, but my boss is a good woman. As long as she's there, she'll have a spot open for me if I ever want to go back."

"Well, that's good," Mac nodded. "In that case, I wish you all the best of luck with whatever it is that you are going to do."

"The same to you, detective," Norrington said, right before he disconnected.

Mac stared at the phone for a moment, a bit stunned before he grinned. '_He wanted to give us a heads up that we wouldn't have a contact at Interpol, but at the same time, if we really wanted one, he still has connections. Interesting man. Very interesting_.'

Just as Mac began to put the phone away, it began to ring again.

He checked the display once more, before his heart felt a little flutter of dread. "This is Mac."

"Hey Mac, it's Sheldon."

"What's happened?"

"Flack's awake. Stella is with him now."

Mac took a deep, relaxing breath before he smiled and leaned back in his chair. This conversation was already out to a great start.

**0-0-0-0-0-0**

James stared up at The Valiant Chase with a mixture of feelings.

On the one hand, he felt that this was the right thing to do. That after his brush with death, AGAIN, that going back out onto the sea was the right thing to do. There were still mysteries to solve, still pirates to take down, but. But. The sea was calling to him like it never had before. And Jack had made an offer to him the last time he was on board.

On the other hand, there was another, just as loud, but infinitely larger part of him that said he would be a grade-A idiot if he got on that boat. There were still mysteries to solve, still pirates to take down, and he could do all of that from the comfort and safety of land. Land, where if he died, he wouldn't have to see the captain of the Flying Dutchman again. Land, where if he died, he could be assured that someone, somewhere would mourn him, even if it were just his law-enforcement office mates.

If he died.

Which was a question he was seriously asking himself. As much as he hated the irrationality of that.

'_Will I ever be free of the nightmare of the Flying Dutchman?_'

"You know, mate, if you want on, all you have to do is ask," came that very familiar, lyrical voice.

James did his best to suppress a shiver of… something as the words slid over his body. '_He does that on purpose_,' the British investigator thought uncharitably. Turning to look over his shoulder, he glared at the other man. "I'm still debating."

"What's there to debate?" Jack said with a grin. He spread his arms wide as he spun around the taller man, somehow still managing to not touch him. "The world in all it's glory and pain is now open to you. You, who have the opportunity to become a free man. You, who are no immortal the likes of which only the young wish that they could be."

"Me, who has a job that I just quit, but can very easily turn around, make one phone call, and be right back with them. No harm. No foul. Just the knee jerk reaction of someone who almost died. AGAIN."

"Well, there is that," Jack said with an almost sarcastic nod of his head. "But where's the fun in that? Where's the adventure? Where is the revenge?"

"I do not seek revenge," James retorted stiffly.

"Oh? Is that so?" Jack said, a devilish light in his eyes and an all-too knowing smirk spreading across his lips. He took a step closer, well within James's personal space, and then had the audacity to lean even closer, so that they were practically nose to nose with one another.

The pose was a bit too… intimate for James's peace of mind, but he refused to back up a single inch. '_It's almost as if he wants to kiss me, he's just so bloody close._'

"You don't seek revenge for what the Mermaids did, not just to you, but to the others. To your cop friend, or to those girls who were sucked into their world without ever knowing that there was something else to life? Think about your cop friend who's still in the hospital after all that they had done to the two of you. Think of those girls, who never got to go to any dances, never knew anything of life or love or opportunity or growth, who only knew the way of the Mermaid."

James glared at the smaller man, feeling his grasp on his luggage tighten.

"Now, tell me that you don't want revenge," Jack said as he sashayed to the ramp. "I'll see you on board at your leisure, Mr. Norrington."

"I'm beginning to seriously hate you, Mr. Sparrow," James called out, feeling his cheeks redden with the intensity of his emotions.

Jack just looked over his should are gave a cheeky smile before disappearing down below.

James tightened his lips as he continued to look at the boat. '_He knows I'm tempted, and I think that's the worst part about all of this. I am bloody well tempted to follow him, and that's just insane._'

On the one hand, he still felt that this was the right thing to do. The sea was calling to him like it never had before. And Jack had made an offer to him the last time he was on board. Had made an offer to him again, just now.

On the other hand, there was another, just as loud, but infinitely larger part of him that said he would be a grade-A idiot if he got on that boat. There were still mysteries to solve, still pirates to take down, and he could do all of that from the comfort and safety of land. Land, where if he died, he wouldn't have to see the captain of the Flying Dutchman again.

If he died.

'Can I tolerate another trip to the Flying Dutchman?' James asked, feeling as if ice water were thrown at him. He felt all the blood drain from his flushed cheeks and his skin prickle with dread and fear.

James looked down the wooden pathway that led to the boat, and he thought of all that he would have to do. If he went with Jack, he would have to sell off all of his properties, have to do away with almost all of his earthly possessions, at least for a little while. At least until he found his own way. If he didn't go with Jack, he would have to call upon a lot of favors to help him find his way again.

But either path he took, he knew…

He would still be going after the Mermaids.

Jack was right with that, at least.

He did want his vengeance.

With a tired sigh, James shook his head. "Immortal or not, I know that this is a fool's errand. Might as well get it started, though."

And with that, he took another step towards his destiny.


End file.
